Canadian Refuge
by SailorHikarinoMu
Summary: Romano internally growled; not only had his people sought refuge within Canada's welcoming borders, but his heart had as well. Intent on confessing his feelings, he flies over to Canada and ends up discovering one of Matthew's oldest (and largest) cities. Warning: M/M, CanRomano, fluff, lots of Italian and French throughout chapters. The setting is the city of Montreal, Qc, Canada.
1. Chapter 1: Lovino's Arrival & Maple Talk

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters (sadly). Nor do I own Air Canada, or anything else for that matter. To put it simply, I own nothing. If I did, Canada would get a hell of a lot more screen time…

Just a couple of notes before reading: Though I'm Canadian (and proud of it), that's not the main reason why I like Canada (Matthew Williams) so much. I just happen to really like the character. Though, I do wish he'd speak up a bit more. Trust me, to all non-Canadians reading this: yes, we're polite as hell (for the most part), but we aren't necessarily timid. Except… I must admit that we are a lot less patriotic than Americans (I love you, my neighbours to the South ;) ), but I digress….

By the way, if ever any of you are writing a story with Canada or France (or any other country that speaks French), please don't hesitate in PMing me for an exact translation. Let's be honest: Google translate is good concerning word for word translations, but sucks if you want a complete sentence of something. It makes me cringe when I see these horrible French mistakes (not that I'm blaming you personally; French is a hard language) in really good fics. Thus, feel free to PM me if you need help, m'kay?

All that aside, I hope you amazing people will have fun reading my story as much as I had a blast writing it!

Happy Reading Time!

(I know that's not English; I just invented that expression…. Sometimes I invent my own language, so don't mind me)

 **Canadian Refuge**

"Attention ladies and gentleman, Flight 871 from Paris has now landed. Team Air Canada thanks you for your patience. Thank you for choosing to fly with Air Canada."

« Attention à tous et à toutes, Vol 871 en provenance de Paris est maintenant arrivé. L'équipe Air Canada vous remercie de votre patience. Merci d'avoir choisi de voyager avec Air Canada. »

Matthew Williams let out a breath he had not realized he was holding in, and sighed in relief. The cold Canadian February weather had caused many delays and cancellations of flights. The runways were covered in thin, but nevertheless slippery, sheets of black ice due to the freezing rain the city had been experiencing over the last few days. The Canadian had been rather worried that Romano's flight had had to land in another airport with safe enough conditions to land, such as the J.F.K. airport in New York, where it was currently 7°C (and no, not 45° F, damn Alfred and his stupid need to be different from everyone else) or even worse, to turn back to the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.

Soon enough, travellers began spilling out from the arrival gates, and Matthew witnessed heart warming reunions and timid introductions. He patiently waited for the Italian, a smile on his face.

Romano was one of the few people that remembered him and came to visit whenever his busy schedule allowed it. They had become good friends ever since an influx of immigrants from mostly the South of Italy had sought refuge within his borders, back in the days of WWI and WWII. The beginning had been difficult; most had been used to the scorching Mediterranean heat instead of the bitter cold, had had a hard time learning English or French, and had been a cause for suspicion by his people. Now, he was pleased to announce that, over time, the newly arrived Italians had made Canada their home. His people had even embraced their food and culture, if the creation of Little Italy in Montreal and in other big cities had anything to say for it.

Although the list of nations that were able to identify Canada was getting longer and longer with time, he still rather enjoyed the hot-headed man's company.

* * *

Lovino felt beyond thankful that he could finally leave the stupid aircraft after having had to stay seated for nearly seven hours. Not only had the plane experienced turbulence throughout most of the duration of the air trip, but the landing had been rough and bumpy. He could not stay mad at the latter aspect, for the weather conditions outside seemed rather unfit for flying, if the view from the window had been anything to go by. The worst, however, was the fact that no direct flight from Catania or even Rome to Montreal had been available. He had had to make a stop in France, of all places, and God only knew how much he loathed the impersonation of said country. On the bright side, at least Francis had not made an appearance for the time he had spent waiting at the airport. He could have kissed the Pope's feet for that.

All that aside, he was uncharacteristically ecstatic at meeting up with the man who graced his dreams at night. Grudgingly, he at least had to admit this much; Matthew was one of the most noble, generous and kind nations he knew. Simply being in his presence put him at ease and relieved his tortured spirit from the pain and misery that the long life of a nation brought. He had been so scared for the many farmers, mainly from the South, that had had to leave their home due to the unification of Italy during the period of the late nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries. Yet, Matthew had accepted them with open arms and a warm, welcoming smile. After that, the World Wars, which had prompted new waves of Italian immigrants, had only deepened his affections.

Sure, Lovino was a grumpy Italian who liked to eat tomatoes while using every colorful word known to man, but ever since the Canadian had taken his people in, he had taken his heart, as well.

Snapping out of his daze, the older nation noticed that he was the last remaining passenger in the airplane. Cleaning ladies were already starting to clear the seats and aisles of trash whilst one of the flight attendants was giving him a quizzical look from in front of the cockpit door. He scowled and quickly emptied the overhead bin containing his luggage and personal items. He then nodded curtly to the woman in thanks and speed walked out of the terminal.

He had purposefully kept all of his belongings with him for the simple reason that he had wanted to see the younger nation as quickly as possible rather than have to wait for checked luggage. That had obviously been in vain judging from the haze he had just woken up from only minutes prior. He had never been a daydreamer; Matthew had changed that. With that realization, he sighed. He guessed he finally understood the true meaning of being 'drunk in love', now that he thought about it.

The reason for his travel to North America was not only to see his beloved Canadian, but to hopefully make him see the hidden feelings he harbored within his heart by seducing him like only Italians knew how. This time, he refused to let himself shy away like what had happened with Belgium that one time back when he lived with Spain. That had been embarrassing…. No. He was going to make Matthew his. If he rejected him, which Romano feared immensely, then he would wallow in self pity and drink his sorrows away, until someone else would tickle his fancy. He cringed at the thought of that; it was Canada, the second largest country in the world, that he wanted, that he desired more than anything. Still, he preferred rejection over being perceived as a friend for the rest of his life.

Burying those thoughts into the deep recesses of his mind, he shook his head and walked faster. He knew that the journey to the Canadian's heart would require a lot of time and effort on his part, but he was determined. The Arctic nation would most probably notice his advances soon enough either way; Matthew was sharp, unlike his hamburger-bastard of a brother, who was immeasurably dense.

Once more, Lovino stopped himself from venturing too deep into his thoughts and turned towards the exit, where he knew he would be waiting.

* * *

As soon as he spotted a familiar stray curl from the mass of people flooding the area, Canada felt a tender warmth bubble up in his chest. The world meeting from five months prior was the last time they had seen each other, so he was naturally excited. He had already arranged a time with the local arena so that he could teach his Italian friend how to skate. He was also thinking of going on a ski trip, maybe a day at _Mont Sutton_ or _Mont Saint-Bruno_. He assumed that the European had gone skiing before; the Alps are shared by eight countries, Italy being one of them. The hills around the Montreal area were rather small in comparison, but they were fun nonetheless. If Romano wanted, they could always bother Alfred and go to Jay Peak, or other ski resorts in Vermont and New Hampshire. Either way, Romano was staying for two and a half weeks; they had plenty of time to come up with a list of activities to do. For now, however, the host nation would stick with greeting his guest.

When eye contact was made between the two men, Matthew frantically waved at his friend. After feeling so lonely for the last number of months, the weeks to come were undoubtedly going to be great; it was the blond's personal conviction.

* * *

South Italy inwardly chuckled at his friend's antics. The North American was utterly adorable.

When he reached the place where Matthew was standing, he put his bags down and greeted him the Italian way (pfft! No way was that a French thing): a bear-hug accompanied by a kiss on each cheek.

Red roses bloomed all over Matthew's cheeks and nose, an endearing sight indeed. Romano mentally gave himself a pat on the back; so far, things seemed to be looking up for him.

"I'm glad you made it. The weather this time of year causes the worst take-off and landing conditions." He sighed, before resuming, "Anyways, do you have everything with you? My car is in the airport parking lot, so I could go get it to make it easier for you in case you have more luggage." Matthew's voice was as sweet as always.

"No, I didn't check in any of my bags. I didn't want to have to wait any more time than necessary to see you…. I missed you, maple-bastard." He mentally slapped himself; _Dio mio_ , there was no way in hell one could woo someone by calling said individual a bastard…. Though, he supposed that Matthew should have been used to it by now. Even so, he was going to make a great effort not to call him by any negative term; he resolved himself to either call him Canada or Matthew.

Maybe, just maybe, Lovino would get to call him by a nickname. 'Birdie' was already taken by that jerk Prussia, and 'Mattie' was America's nickname for his twin. He had heard the Netherlands, Denmark and a couple of other nations call him 'Matt' a couple of times. 'Matteo' was sort of cute, but Feliciano had stolen that one. He skipped over France; he did not remember nor did he want to know the Frenchman's name for the Canadian. 'Matvey' had been claimed by Russia, not that Romano complained; Russia called everyone by their Russian name, in his typical creepy way of course, but still.

'I can always call him _il mio tesoro_ , or even _il mio angelo_ , if he lets me. It's not as if he speaks Italian anyways, or at least not that I know of,' South Italy mused silently.

He jumped when he felt a cool hand on his forehead. He looked up to see (what he hoped was) a concerned Matthew with his nose scrunched up in concentration.

"Matthew? It's not that I mind you touching me, on the contrary, but what are you doing?" he asked slyly.

Said nation snatched his hand away as if he had been burned, and took a step back.

'Just great, I scared the poor kid,' thought Lovino, annoyed at himself. He knew the Canadian was shy and easily embarrassed, but he could not help wanting to tease him. It was the cutest thing when the young country was flustered.

"W-well, you seemed to be really out of it, s-so I thought maybe you had a fever or something. I just wanted to check your temperature," the blond stuttered. He sincerely hoped the European did not think he was acting strange or anything. The thought of rendering Romano's stay awkward was a possibility he greatly disliked.

"Oh… no. I'm just feeling a tad out of it. You know, different time zones and all…" he trailed off. 'It's just, being around you turns my insides into a quivering mess. Not that I can tell you that, yet. I don't wanna go too fast,' was the real reason.

"I see. Well, how about I take some of your bags and we can walk to the car together. When we get to my house, I can make you something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry, what with how horrible airplane food is!" the blond joked, relieved he had not spooked his friend.

The Mediterranean nodded and they left soon after, Canada carrying most of the luggage.

* * *

Moments after having left the airport, Matthew was feeling slightly nervous; his guest had kept quiet as soon as they had reached the modest sedan, which was unusual to say the least. He glanced at the passenger to his right and gathered the small amount of courage he had left to strike up a conversation. "So, how come you don't have your own private jet? I mean, since France and England have their own, I assumed maybe all of the European nations travelled that way instead of taking commercial flights."

Romano rolled his eyes in annoyance; of course those pompous bastards had their own. "I tend to stay in my country. When I do travel, I usually stay in Europe. As you know, all of the European countries are very close to each other, so I just drive to wherever I need to go. North America is different that way. Your country is isolated and only shares one border, and that's with your brother, unless you count Denmark's Greenland. I mean isn't Canada one of the only countries surrounded by three different oceans or something like that? …Your land is special. It's so large that just the province of Quebec alone is nearly three times the size of France, which I make sure to remind him of every time I get a chance. Just to stick it to him whenever he forgets you…. Sorry. I kinda went off topic there." He mentally punched himself; reminding Canada of why he was always so overlooked and invisible was not something he intended to do. He had meant to give a compliment, but that had obviously been a bust.

Matthew kept his eyes on the road, feeling surprised and touched by Romano's kind words. The Southern Italian had always had that unique way of making him feel special. "No, don't worry about it. I'm used to it by now. Besides, I'm not truly forgotten if nations such as yourself remember me, right?" he chuckled good-naturedly.

The brunet grunted in reply. He would have preferred to be the only one that remembered him; it would have been easier to have him all to himself that way. He then inwardly scolded himself; it was wrong to be so selfish. His little Northern angel deserved to have the world at his feet.

* * *

After waking up from a much needed nap, the European nation headed down the stairs of Matthew's Montreal home only to find said Canadian dancing around the kitchen, cooking something other than those beloved pancakes he enjoyed so much. He was humming to an some upbeat song that was playing on his stereo.

Fighting his urge to hug the unsuspecting Canadian from behind and press him flush against his chest, he wisely opted to sit at the table and inform his boss of his safe arrival. He pulled a chair out, producing a scraping sound in the process, and plopped down.

Alerted by the noise, Matthew whirled around and smiled at the newcomer. "Sleep well?" He turned the volume of the radio down.

Romano mumbled out a 'yes' in response, keeping his eyes glued to his mobile phone.

"Who you textin'?" The blond asked, slightly ticked at the prospect of some other nation occupying his friend's attention…. Whoa, where had that come from?

"Just my boss… and done." He lifted his gaze, stuffing the device back into his pocket. "It smells great. What're you making?"

"It's brunch time, so I thought I'd make some Canadian bacon. Alfred loves this stuff. It's not actually bacon though, it's sliced ham that's smoked and given a light maple syrup flavor, _du jambon à l'érable_ in French. I also whipped up a spinach omelette, along with some breakfast potatoes, and some 'sausages in maple syrup' as well. I wanted to make a typical meal that's served in the _cabanes à sucre_ of Quebec, or 'sugar shack' in English, but _cabane à sucre_ is really more of a French term." He twisted the knobs of the oven to 'off', reaching for some plates, to then resume, "We should visit one some time soon. A few years ago, I brought Alfred, and he went absolutely nuts trying the different maple products, such as maple butter or maple candies. His favorite was _la tire sur la neige_ , which is basically this heated maple taffy that is poured over a bank of snow to cool down. Then, you take a popsicle stick and twirl it around the cooling treat until it looks like an amber lollipop of chewy goodness. Alfie had so many of those that I lost count after fifty." He chuckled at the fond memory; it had been one of the funniest things to see his twin stuffed to the brim with the various maple products.

Romano gazed dreamily at the Canadian the entire time; the pride Matthew felt for his country was evident through his passionate words. "Damn… I thought maple syrup was the only thing you could make from maple trees."

Canada stopped what he had been doing to study the Italian, violet eyes intense behind glasses.

He ceased his scrutinizing gaze when the other man started squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

...There was no way Romano had been joking; it seemed he genuinely was unaware.

Relieved yet a tad disappointed, the blond took a moment to pack the plates with food and serve the other nation, who appeared to be scared for his life right about then.

"You could create a variety of foods and drinks from 'maple water', or 'maple sap' if you prefer. You could marinate various meats using maple syrup, kind of like the sausage and bacon on our plates. You could also mix it with other sauces, such as barbecue, to give an extra sweet kick to stuff. My bro particularly likes maple-barbecue pulled pork for some odd reason. Besides that, you could make a ton of treats, like maple cotton candy, maple sugar tarts, maple whippet cookies, maple chocolate and so on. You could also just make granulated maple sugar, which you could use to make a bunch of other desserts instead of using plain white or brown sugar, which aren't as healthy for you. These are only some of the things you can do using _les érables_ …" his voice trailed off.

"Wow, who knew…. What about the drinks? What type of beverage could you make?" he asked curiously, amazed at what Canadians had come up with over time. For such a young country, it was impressive.

"I'll tell you some other time. For now, how about we dig in. _Bon appétit_."

"Right, _buon appetito_."

With that, they ate in amiable silence, Romano savouring every bite.

End of Chapter One – Fin du Chapitre Un

Translations (and yes they're all accurate; I speak some Italian, besides French):

 _Dio mio_ – 'Oh my God', or just 'my God'

 _Il mio tesoro_ – my treasure

 _Il mio angelo_ – my angel

 _Bon appétit/Buon appetito_ – there is no exact translation for that, but it basically means 'enjoy your meal' in French and Italian.

 _les érables_ – the maple trees

A/N: Hello all, in upcoming chapters, we will learn more about Montreal and explore (almost) all of what this busy city has to offer. I find there is a lack of Romano x Canada. Thus, I hope to change that with this. This story will change to M rated in later chapters, just letting you know (I'm already done writing it). But for now, have fun learning a little something about Canada, while learning some new words in Italian and French in the process.

I hope you liked this _i miei dolci lettori_ (my sweet readers).

Sending you all maple-laced kisses,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	2. Chapter 2: Skating at the Old Port

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters (sadly). Nor do I own Hedley (though I wish I could), or anything else for that matter. To put it simply, I own nothing. If I did, Canada would get a hell of a lot more screen time…

Just a couple of notes before reading: This chapter's image is that of last year's _MONTRÉAL EN LUMIÈRE_ festival, from this year's brochure. I get many flyers and adds in the mail, and I got this year's program for the festival, so that's why you see that the city that's being honored this year is Shenzhen, China. There are more details about this awesome 'must-go-to' festival at the end of this chapter :) .

My offer still stands; if ever any of you are writing a story with Canada or France (or any other country that speaks French), please don't hesitate in PMing me for an exact translation. I not only speak both, but I write them both perfectly as well. I'm not trying to be boastful; I honestly just want to help people write better stories. French is a difficult, but beautiful language, so it makes me smile whenever I see it properly written, with proper sentence structure and verb tense, you know? So don't be shy, m'kay?

Bonne Lecture!

(really more of a French term, but basically means 'Enjoy Reading')!

 **Canadian Refuge**

The next day was spent lazing around the house. Romano was still suffering from the effects of a different time zone.

Matthew had occupied himself by settling comfortably in his favorite couch, a best-selling novel in one hand with a steaming mug of cocoa in the other, when he suddenly heard a loud 'thump' from upstairs.

Hoping the sleeping Italian had not hurt himself, he climbed the stairs towards the guest room. What he saw once there reassured him; Romano's upper body was on the floor while his legs were still tangled in the messy web of sheets. Despite his situation, the tanned nation had remained sound asleep, snoring softly.

'So it's true, Lovino does have quite a hard head. I thought Spain had been pulling my leg,' he inwardly joked to himself. Chuckling quietly, he proceeded to tuck the slumbering nation back into bed.

As he lifted him up, Romano stirred and mumbled something that vaguely resembled the words "Oh Canada~".

His face now crimson in color, Canada hurriedly settled the Southerner under the covers.

As he regained his living room, he convinced himself that he had heard wrong; there was no way his friend dreamt of him.

...Yet, strangely enough, that possibility did not repulse him in the slightest.

* * *

A few hours later, Romano once again found his host prancing around the kitchen, this time to a French song.

"Hey Canada, _grazie_ for letting me sleep in. I really needed it."

Turning on himself in suprise, Matthew began to fiddle with his shirt, eyes downcast as he mumbled a "No problem."

The older nation noticed this, but decided to shrug it off for the time being. "By tomorrow I'll be okay, so we could start doing stuff." Pausing, he then focused on the woman's voice currently blearing out from the speakers. "What are you listening to?"

"Oh that? It's Marie Mai, she's a young singer from Quebec. She's quite popular around here. Yesterday, I was listening to Hedley, a Canadian band I'm rather proud of. The lead singer was a contestant on Canadian Idol back when it still existed," he answered over his shoulder, as he began washing the dishes that were in the sink.

"They're talented. Wait, there was a Canadian Idol?"

"Yeah, but it didn't last all that long. Only around six seasons. It obviously wasn't as popular as American Idol. None of my shows ever do as well as Alfred's…" Matthew sighed, placing the now clean dishes to dry on the rack by the sink.

"Damn it, will you ever stop comparing yourself to your brother? America has a population that's ten times greater than your own, so what do you expect? A larger audience can do that." He stomped towards Matthew and got into his face, oblivious to how he was slightly pinning the Canadian in place. "I think you're so much better than he is, than he could ever be. What do I have to do to get you to understand that?" He bore his golden eyes into the indigo ones in front of him, searching for answers. Why did his _angelo_ have to downgrade himself so much? Did he not realize how many qualities he possessed? How wonderful he was?

Matthew turned his head away and sighed, feeling ashamed from expressing his insecurities out loud, to the person he was supposed to be having a good time with. "Sorry. You're right. It's just sometimes, I feel like I'm a failure compared to my brother," he admitted, voice meek.

Lovino softened his gaze; he knew the feeling all too well. "Yeah, I get you. I feel like that too sometimes. I can't help but think that Feli is so much more talented than me. But over time, I just learned to accept it and be happy for him. Besides, even if my brother has more to offer than I do, I'm still proud of my land and my people. Yes, there's a lot of corruption, but it could be so much worse if you compare ourselves to many other countries in this world. Your nation has a lot of potential, so stop thinking so negatively." He pulled away a bit. "I want you to promise me something…. Promise me that you'll stop comparing yourself to America. You're two distinctly unique countries."

The blond seemed to contemplate something for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay…I give you my word Lovino."

"Call me Lovi. I don't mind."

"W-well… alright, Lovi," he stuttered, a faint blush adorning his cheeks.

' _Bellissimo_ ,' South Italy thought to himself, satisfied. "Good. So what's for dinner?"

"Oh, I just ordered some Mexican take-out. The place a block from here makes some killer empanadas. I didn't know what to get you so I ordered a chicken quesadilla. By the way, sorry I already ate; I was hungry. Hope you don't mind."

"Nah, don't worry about it. That's fine; I'm used to Antonio's food so it shouldn't be that different. But next time we go out, I pay. _Capisci_?"

" _S-si, io capisco_."

Romano stopped breathing for a moment while his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. "You… speak Italian?"

"I know a few words here and there," he answered while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "The Italian-Canadians have sorta rubbed off on me."

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any better," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," was his quick reply. "Anyways, thanks for everything. I'll eat and then go back to sleep, so you could go to bed now. By the way, what're we doing tomorrow?"

"I reserved some ice time at the arena close by. I was planning to teach you how to skate if you're up for it," Matthew yawned. "I'm gonna go get some shut eye. _Bonne nuit_ ," he slurred sleepily, leaving the room without waiting for a reply.

" _Buonanotte_ …" Romano whispered, ' _il mio bello Canadese_ ' being the non-spoken continuation of the sentence.

* * *

Romano woke up the next morning due to a swearing Matthew. Who knew the shy man had it in him? From what he could hear, his host was downstairs.

As he made his way into the open space of the living room, he found the blond rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefingers, his cellphone at his side.

"Is something wrong?"

Matthew jumped in his seat and reverted back to his stuttering, timid self. "Oh, yeah. W-well, I just got a call a few minutes ago informing me that the Zamboni at the arena we were supposed to go to is out of order. Something about the hydraulics system being defective…. I was just kinda pissed; I was really looking forward to having the entire ice to ourselves," he finished softly.

Romano felt his heart swell; it almost seemed like Matthew wanted to spend some alone time with him.

"Anyways, I guess we could go to the Old Port, which is located in Old Montreal. There's an outside rink there, and the view is absolutely stunning at night. At this downtown area called _la Place des Festivals_ , there's always stuff going on. For example, Montreal hosts the 'International Jazz Festival' and the 'International Just for Laughs Festival' in the summer, which are amongst the most popular events. But in the winter, there's this thing called ' _Montréal en lumière_ '. It's basically a light festival where you can see a bunch of ice sculptures, attend some outdoor concerts, walk around and play with the various light games, and there are wood bonfires everywhere so that people could warm their hands and feet for a moment before continuing on with the festivities. It's really fun. It starts next week, so we could go if you'd like." He paused. "I digress a lot don't I? To get back to what I was saying, the Old Port is near downtown Montreal, where most of these events take place. So even before the ' _Montréal en lumière_ ' festival starts, there are a lot of lights everywhere, of all different colours, all around the area," he finished dreamily. "Would you like to go there? We could always go to the Atrium Le 1000, another popular ice rink. Although it's indoors, that one's nice too."

The European man could never get tired of hearing Matthew talk about his country; it was a privilege few people got to experience. To have the Canadian speak so freely, so candidly, brought a warmth to his being; it was not often Matthew opened up to people, especially to other nations. Thus, Lovino felt special, to say the least. Maybe he could become more than a friend to the blond after all.

" _Si_ , I'd love to. I don't mind where we go, as long as I get to see some more of this beautiful city you seem to love so much. Let's go to the outside rink today, and we can go to the other one some other time. Sound good?"

The Northern nation blushed. "Great. I got a pair of hockey skates that you could borrow. I'll go get them and we'll be on our way," he spoke excitedly.

Once the Canadian had left the room, Romano let his usual frown melt from his face, only to have a genuine smile take its place.

* * *

After suffering the embarrassment of having Matthew tie his skates, Lovino wobbled out of the small indoor area where some benches and lockers were, and headed towards the ice.

Outside, a small breeze caressed his face and snow was falling gently from the sky. Couples and groups of friends were skating around merrily. It was still daytime, but in an hour or so, it would be dark out. Nevertheless, the weather was perfect for outdoor skating, and under multiple layers of warm clothing, Romano was almost dealing well with the cold. The romantic mood in the air subtly contributed to his state of well-being.

As he stepped onto the smooth surface of the ice, he immediately felt himself falling until a pair of strong arms held him still from behind.

"You alright?" he heard Matthew whisper in his ear, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

Wanting to stay in the embrace a moment longer, Lovino grudgingly nodded while mumbling a low yes. He regretted saying anything since right after, he felt the Canadian loosen his hold and then saw him take a place by his side instead.

"Okay, so the first thing you gotta do is to balance yourself on your skates. Incline yourself forward a bit. It'll give you some stability," he instructed.

The auburn-haired man attempted to do just that, but ended up flailing his arms until Canada grasped his hand and kept it in a tight hold. He glanced to his side to see _il suo tesoro_ smiling encouragingly.

"That was good for a first try. Keep going, eh."

Once he established a decent stance, he saw Matthew nod approvingly from the corner of his eye, and felt a surge of pride.

" _Bien_. Now to skate, you have to glide using one foot at a time. The key here is to angle one foot enough so as to dig it a bit into the ice. Still using that same foot, you want to then push yourself forward. Meanwhile, your other foot should stay straight to allow the gliding motion. When you look at it from a technical view, the foot that's propelling you kind of looks like it's doing a semi-circle. Wanna give it a try?"

Lovino bit his lip; he wanted to impress him, not embarrass himself by falling. He stayed unmoving, as frozen as the ice he was currently standing on, until the other male noticed.

"Lovi? What-"

"What if I fall?" he blurted out.

The blond chuckled. "Then I'll catch you. There's no way I'll ever let you fall. You have my word on that," he spoke seriously, words containing an almost tender undertone. "Go on and give it a shot. I'm right here, buddy."

Romano's heart had been frantically beating in his chest until that last word had stopped it dead cold in its tracks. His lips twitched into a bitter smile, and he proceeded to do as he had been instructed.

* * *

Night fall came and the pair was currently enjoying a cup of hot chocolate. They sat on an outside bench overlooking the rink, where the Zamboni was currently smoothing its surface.

It had gotten cooler from the loss of daylight, yet not to the point of it being freezing. They had spent the last hours or so slowly skating around the rink, all the while chatting amiably. The older nation had noticed Matthew glancing from time to time towards the more experienced skaters that were gliding over the ice at a rapid pace, crisscrossing gracefully or pivoting from frontwards to backwards. He had obviously felt guilty from preventing the blond from skating freely.

As the Zamboni completed its last lap and headed off the ice, the Canadian rose up from his seat and turned towards the other nation.

"Alright Lovin- uh Lovi, ready for round two?"

"Nah, you go on ahead. I'm only half done with my hot chocolate," he waved him off.

"O-okay."

The second he stepped foot on the ice, the young nation skated towards the center of the rink. He relished the feeling of smooth, fresh ice under his skates, the blades making crisp, clean lines at every stride. There was nothing better to him than completely immersing himself in the joy of skating freely around a rink, the chilly arena or winter air blowing through his hair and numbing the skin over his face and neck until his ears were rendered red from freezing slowly.

He skated around the ice, slowly at first, then progressively speeding up until, at least in Romano's opinion, he looked like a falcon soaring through the sky, elegant but mighty. Matthew literally was the perfect depiction of his land: The True North, strong and free.

The blond, oblivious to everything around him but the sound and feel of his skates cutting into the frozen surface, pivoted on himself gracefully and began to skate backwards in a fluent, easy rhythm. Impressing everyone that had been watching, he suddenly jumped and twirled in the air before landing smoothly on one foot, the other lifted into an arabesque. He then crisscrossed, building up speed and launched himself high in the air for a Triple Lutz. From there, he slowed down, reverting back to frontward skating and coming to a stop in front of where Lovino sat.

The Canadian fully opened his eyes to see his friend clutching his paper cup and then looked around, noticing how he had been alone on the ice the entire time. The audience that had steadily built over the course of the artistic demonstration erupted in applause and cheers, a few individuals whistling. He smiled bashfully and waved, embarrassed from the attention.

As the 'bravos' died down and people started filing down the small staircase leading towards the rink, the blond stepped onto the rubber surface bordering the area and made his way over to South Italy, who had strangely remained still. "H-hey. You still feel like skating?"

Romano recovered from his haze and gazed up at the taller nation. "No. I'm tired…. Can we go home now, bast- Matthew?"

Said man blinked, and nodded. He had noticed how, ever since the day at the airport, Romano had started calling him by his human name, rather than the usual 'bastard' or 'maple-bastard'. It terrified him to think that he may have done something wrong in order to cause such a change, yet nothing came to mind. Did the Italian not view him as a friend anymore? The sole possibility of losing his best friend, one of the few people that he could confide in, somewhat depressed him.

He guessed being continually ignored or mistaken for someone else did that to people.

* * *

Once back at the Canadian's home after a relatively quiet drive, Matthew put the skates away, thinking all the while of what they could have for supper. He then met up with his guest, who was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall.

'Strange…' he thought. "W-what do you want to eat tonight?" came the hesitant question.

The Southern half of Italy whipped his head around, surprised that the Canadian's presence had gone unnoticed by him. "Uh… How about I cook tonight? I can make some pas-"

"No, it's fine. What do you think of some Texan rib-eye? Alfred makes it a point to keep a reserve of American meat in my fridge. He claims he has the reddest, juiciest beef in the world. I don't know about that, but whatever," he interrupted, finishing with a shrug.

"That sounds good. I could make a salad or cut some potatoes if you want. After all, doesn't the ideal American meal automatically include French fries?" he half-joked.

Canada's only response was a chuckle as he pulled a large slab of beef from the fridge and placed it on the counter. With a large knife, he promptly began cutting the meat into thick slices.

Not liking the heavy atmosphere that had settled in the room and that was slowly suffocating him, Romano tried once more to lighten the mood. "By the way, you never told me what type of drink you could make from maple sap."

Canada paused in his meat slicing, bloody knife clenched firmly in one hand. "Oh yeah, true. Well instead of telling you about it, how about we taste it for ourselves. What would you prefer: wine or whisky?"

"Uhm…"

"You know what? How about both? I'm aware that it's not good to mix your alcohol, but us nations tend to be more resistant anyway. So might as well kill two birds with one stone, eh?" Finished with the meat, he began chopping some lettuce. 'Besides, I could use a drink right about now,' was the bitter afterthought.

"Sure." Maybe after some alcohol, things between them could get more comfortable again, or so the European hoped.

* * *

"You should have seen his face, 'No…NO, my dream team!'" Canada snickered, mocking his twin's voice. "And then, he ended up with no medal at all, thanks to Finland. I swear, the Sochi Olympics were the cherry on top of a fantastic sundae. If there's one thing that guy should know, it's that hockey's my sport, both in the male and female divisions." He doubled over in laughter.

"That'z right. Amen to dat," slurred the other man in the room.

A couple of glasses of maple wine followed by a few more shots of 42% alcohol Canadian maple rye whisky, the latter aged seven years to boot, had sufficed in loosening the tense nations down.

They had crashed on the living room sofa, the national news playing in the background.

"You know, I gotta give it to ya'. Your stuff is pretty good."

Canada scoffed, "Pfft, tell that to America. He keeps complaining to me about how much he hates my beer, when really, his is the one that tastes like horse piss. Which reminds me, we should try some Canadian beer tomorrow. Nothing's better than a cold one on a Friday night, especially if it's a Molson. Or a Moosehead, I guess. Either or."

South Italy chuckled, "How do you know what horse piss even tastes like?"

"Lord help me; it's just an expression Lovino."

"Hey," he whined. "I thought I told you to call me Lovi."

"Only if you stop calling me by my name all the time and go back to saying 'maple-bastard'." He paused, sobering up in the process. "Why did you stop calling me that anyway? I liked when you called me that. It made me feel special," he added softly.

The older male stared at his counterpart dead in the eyes. "Because you deserve something better, a nickname that does you justice."

"Then what do you have in mind, if I may ask?"

Hazel eyes looked away. "It doesn't matter. All I know is that you deserve better…so much better."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence. "Anyways, I'm going to bed. 'Night Matthew," he resumed while getting up from the couch, not hearing the crestfallen North American's sigh.

Once he had left the room, Canada uttered his last thoughts of the night. "Why do you keep running away from me Romano…. Don't you see it's hurting me inside?"

* * *

Romano laid wide awake in the Canadian's guestroom. The bed felt cold and empty, but it would have to do. He kept replaying the last few days over in his head and sighed; there was no way in hell he was going to sleep peacefully tonight. With the way things were going, chances Canada could possibly like him back were slim. It was obvious he perceived him as a good friend, nothing more, nothing less.

He thought back to the beautiful performance the blond had given earlier that day. The Canadian had looked like a graceful swan, agile in his movements to the point he looked almost angelic. He could not begin to comprehend the blond's light-footedness. It was just, weren't hockey players known for being the exact opposites of figure skaters? Matthew was crazy for the sport and played often…

Regardless, none of that mattered anymore; the memory of how ethereal he had looked on the ice had already engraved itself in his mind.

No. He was not going to give up on this one-sided love. He was going to make Matthew his, or at least try harder.

With that, he slowly fell into dreamland, a hopeful smile on his heart-shaped face.

End of Chapter Two – Fin du Chapitre Deux

Translations (and yes they're all accurate; I speak some Italian, besides French):

 _Grazie_ – thank you

 _Bellissimo_ – lovely/very beautiful

 _Capisci?_ – (you) understand?

 _S-si, io capisco_ – 'y-yes, I understand'. However, in Italian, you don't usually say the pronoun (in this case 'io', which means 'I' in English, or 'je' in French), unless you want to put emphasis on it. But Matthew wouldn't know that, so it's ok. It's not wrong to include the pronoun; it's just uncommon.

 _Bonne nuit_ \- Goodnight

 _Buonanotte, il mio bello Canadese_ – Good night, my beautiful/handsome Canadian

 _La Place des Festivals_ – It basically translates to 'the place of festivals'. It's an area in Montreal where a lot of events take place. Whether it's art, music or so on, a lot of fun stuff takes place there at every season of the year (we don't let the cold steal our fun haha). The Montreal light festival, I suppose I could call it, ( _Montréal en lumière_ , which is its official name) is my absolute favorite. Every year, a different country is represented. Last year, it was Switzerland and this year it's China, specifically the city of Shenzhen. It's taking place as we speak since February 18th and lasts till the 5th of March. When I went last year with a friend, it was, for a lack of better words, simply amazing. Swiss Airlines (or Swissair) was a sponsor and they set up like this huge igloo made out of tent material and they gave us these chocolates that they give on their flights (you could see the igloo in the image at the top of the page). Walking around, there were Swiss army knives on display and in the center of the room, there were touristic representatives talking about the nation to the public, showing us Swiss hotspots and beautiful scenery (God is Switzerland beautiful). It worked 'cause now I badly wanna go to Switzerland. There was also this booth (also in the big igloo) where they were literally making fresh Lindor chocolates and giving them out to us. That made me so inexplicably happy because well, Swiss chocolate is my absolute fav. Anyways, this year I'm really looking forward to seeing what China (Yao, hehe) has in store for us (I'm planning on going next week). I know the Shenzhen Symphonic Orchestra is coming and going to perform with the Montreal Symphonic Orchestra (MSO for short). Just search on google if you guys want to know more about this festival (and the others) and see some images of what it looks like. It's simply beautiful. If there are awesome festivals like that in your city/country, don't hesitate to PM me about it. I'm curious and interested.

 _Il suo tesoro_ – his treasure

 _Bien_ – Good

A/N: I absolutely adore Hedley, and it's not because I'm Canadian. I honestly believe they deserve so much more recognition than what they currently have, 'cause they're freakin' talented! In upcoming chapters, we will continue to learn more about Montreal and explore (almost) all of what this busy city has to offer. I really like Romano x Canada… You could say it speaks to me :)

Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter _mes chers/chères lecteurs/lectrices_ (French for: my dear readers, in masculine/feminine).

Many Canadian hugs to you all,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	3. Chapter 3: Food is Always the Answer

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters (sadly). Nor do I own KFC, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, or anything else for that matter. To put it simply, I own nothing. If I did, Canada would get a hell of a lot more screen time and others would remember him more…

A/N: Ah, it's February 29th! Such an interesting date indeed. An acquaintance of mine is born on this day, and it sucks that she could only properly celebrate her birthday every four years. However, it only makes this day that extra bit special in her opinion. So, Happy Birthday/Bonne Fête (or Bon Anniversaire)/Feliz Aniversário/Buon Compleanno to anyone that is born on this day! And hopefully, in four years from now, I will still be writing fanfiction and putting smiles on people's faces. Because after all, that's my main goal: making people happy!

All that aside, I'm in Vermont right now for the duration of March Break. I love the States. I really do. I've been to New York, Orlando, Plattsburgh, Philadelphia, and Baltimore (and so on), and I enjoy anywhere I go in America. I especially love seeing the huge flags everywhere I look hahahaha. Every time I see an American flag, I blurt out 'Murica. I just can't help it. You barely see the Canadian flag in Quebec.

Warning: Romano's language, even though it isn't that bad.

Bonne Lecture!

 **Canadian Refuge**

The morning sun seeping through the window curtains stirred the slumbering Italian awake. He moaned from the sudden throbbing of his head, yet nevertheless, albeit groggily, made his way out of the room.

He vaguely took note of the reigning silence throughout the household but shrugged it off; Matthew had probably taken his stupid bear out for a walk. Though, the Canadian had been drinking as much as him the night before, so he doubted it.

When he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he noticed the canary yellow post-it note on his host's impeccably clean stainless steel fridge. His ear-splitting headache now the least of his concerns, Romano pulled the sticky paper off and read:

 _Romano,_

 _I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, but my boss called me earlier this morning and requested my presence at Parliament. From what it sounded like, there are urgent matters I must attend to. I most probably am not going to be back before late tonight. I truly am sorry if you felt like going out today._

 _P.S.- I left you some pancakes. I trust you with my kitchen, so feel free to warm them up and raid my fridge as you please._

 _Hoping you understand,_

 _~ Canada_

He cringed at how formal the note was. He had even called him by his nation name.

He knew that Ottawa, where he assumed Canada's boss lived, was a two-hour drive from Montreal. The thought of Matthew driving while suffering from a major hangover worried him.

'Quit thinking like that; you're not _sua madre_. He'll be fine,' he tried to convince himself.

"Hmm, now… what to do…"

* * *

Past the Canadian border in the city of Burlington, Vermont, USA, Matthew was currently sitting in one of his twin's bean bag chairs, while looking out of the living room window. Alfred's modest – for once – residence overlooked Lake Champlain, one of the many natural fresh water bodies the two countries shared.

"So bro, what brings you here to my humble abode?" asked the loud American as he entered the room with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a box of a dozen or so Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

The mere sight made Matthew feel as if he were gaining ten pounds on the spot.

"W-well, I just wanted to come and visit my favorite twin. Is that so wrong?" The last words were but a whisper.

America studied him for a moment, blue eyes thinning into slits. "Mattie, you do realize you're a bad liar, right? Seriously, tell the hero what's bothering you."

He watched the superpower polish off the bucket to then uncover the box of the fried confections.

"Oops, did you want any? Here, have a donut. Check it; they made them a fluorescent pink for Valentine's day," the wheat-blond rambled excitedly. He swallowed the one in his hand in one go, before turning once more towards his brother, urging the Northern nation on with his eyes to spill whatever was on his mind.

The Canadian sighed. "It's South Italy. He came to visit and he's in Montreal as we speak."

"Okay…so what's the problem?"

"Ever since he came, he's been… different. Like not only acting different, but he just seems different. I mean, I've noticed over the years how he always treats me nicer than anyone else. This time however, I feel like he's distancing himself from me. It's like he always has something else on his mind whenever he's with me. Heck, even when he thinks he's alone in the room, he seems to be in his own world." He paused, shaking his head. "I think he doesn't want to be my friend anymore. I mean it's not like Italy and Canada have relations like you and me, Al."

"Maybe that's not it at all. He probably just has a lot on his plate right now. You know how stressful it could be as a nation. He'll come around," were his surprisingly wise words… "And if he doesn't, and starts neglecting you like everyone else, I'll nuke him." Never mind.

Matthew chuckled. "You forget me too, you know. But, I don't see you nuking yourself, Al."

Said person pouted childishly, "You know I don't mean it. You know that, right? Mattie?" He slowly started whining, feeling guilty, "Mattieeee, I'm sorry." He spread his arms in a hug-baiting fashion. "You know I'm trying though, and that I really do love you, right? Say somethiiiinggg-"

"Oh my God, Alfred," he interrupted, exasperated. "Yes, I know you don't mean it. Now stop that." He slapped his brother's hands away.

He loved his twin very much, but when he got in his 'kicked-puppy' mode, it was hard not to get irritated.

The Canadian hugged his polar bear closer; he had been neglecting his poor Kumachichi for the last few days and felt bad about it. "He hasn't even called me yet to see if I'm okay. He should be up by now."

The Southern brother sighed; he hated seeing his best bro so insecure. "Look, even if he does end up forgetting you, there are plenty of other nations you could become friends with. I heard Egypt is pretty chill, or maybe Hong Kong?"

"Ew no; they're so boring." He paused, correcting himself quickly. "W-well not 'ew'. It's just, they're both rather calm, even calmer than myself, and it's not as if I don't get along with them. But, I need someone that's loud and brash."

"Then how about Prussia or Denmark? They know how to have a good time," was the helpful suggestion.

"I'm already friends with them."

America loudly sighed, "Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that Romano is the only one I feel like I can talk to and never be judged for it."

The American looked hurt at that. "What about me? Ain't I enough?"

"You're my brother; that doesn't count."

The American rolled his eyes, "Okay, then just do something that'll knock his socks off and make him think twice about ever thinking of not wanting to be your friend anymore."

"Yeah, that sounds plausible. What would you have in mind?"

"I don't know, how about learning to cook his favorite food and make it for him. That would impress me. Besides, isn't food like a religion in Italy? Along with fashion, the Pope and soccer or whatever?"

Matthew blinked, surprised at his twin's knowledge. "Yeah…. How did you know that?"

"Hey! I'm smarter than I look! It's not for nothing that the U.S. of A. is such a great nation," he defended himself indignantly.

"Yeah yeah, fine. I'll give you that much…. By the way, is it okay if I spend the day here? I don't wanna go back just yet. I told him I'd only be back late anyways."

"Yeah, sure. Make yourself at home, bro." He got up from his star-spangled bean bag and stretched. "How about you start cooking now. I'm starved and I'd be more than happy to be your taste-tester," were his words accompanied by a wink.

"You're insatiable. But you do have a good point –"

"The hero always makes good points."

"– for once," the Canadian finished while shaking his head, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The American simply huffed and made his way to the kitchen, Matthew following suit.

* * *

Back in Canada, Romano was on his laptop, searching for the ingredients he would need to make a proper Canadian meal. He really wanted to surprise Matthew for when he got back home. He would most probably be tired after a busy day of work.

He was lucky, Montreal had a variety of things to choose from. He could go to Shwartz's deli and buy their famous smoked meat, or he could go to the St-Viateur bagel shop and purchase a bag of sesame seed or poppy seed bagels, along with some smoked Atlantic salmon spread. Another choice was to learn how to make _tourtière à la Québécoise_. They were in Quebec, so he settled with the latter. For dessert, he could whip up these little squares…apparently called Nanaimo bars. They looked pretty good too. According to the website, there were many variations but they were typically made of chocolate ganache, crushed cookies and vanilla custard. Perfect.

He got the spare key for Matthew's house and left, hoping the nearby supermarket had all of the ingredients he needed.

* * *

By a quarter to ten, the Canadian, full of enthusiasm and pride, walked into his two-story home, his still warm dish (Alfred had insisted he take his private helicopter home, promising his car would be returned the next day) in his arms.

As soon as he deposited the food he had practically slaved away to make on the kitchen counter, he knew he was alone in the house, apart from the small cub trudging towards him.

So Romano had left after all. He had probably taken advantage of his absence to sneak out of the house and go back to Italy. No surprise there. He was used to people abandoning him; the first had been Francis, then England, and the list had but gone on from there.

He supposed the logical thing to do was go up and check the guestroom, to see if the Italian had indeed grabbed his bags and left. Yet, he decided against it; he was convinced he had. Thus, Matthew had no desire in confirming the obvious.

The Canadian suddenly sank to his knees, grabbing his face in a vain attempt at stopping the onslaught of tears.

* * *

At the grocery store a few blocks away, the European nation was pulling his hair in irritation; he had no idea what half of the signs said. Damn that French bastard Francis and his bastard language. The majority of the labels were bilingual, but most of the English halves were either inaccurate or too small to read. He smacked himself for having left his reading glasses back in his temporary bedroom. He checked the time and smacked himself once more; he had been in the store for way longer than he had originally anticipated.

It seemed luck was on his side, for he suddenly heard a group of people speaking English. He immediately dashed towards them, hoping they would provide some sort of help.

* * *

Moments later, he erupted from the store, hands full with bags. He then noticed a glowing yellow sign across the street. He remembered Matthew mentioning how much he liked the maple-glazed doughnuts from the place and so decided to head there. He had no time to make Nanaimo bars anyway.

* * *

The wide smile that had settled on his face while walking instantly vanished once he found a loudly sobbing Matthew laying face down on the kitchen floor, holding a half-empty two-liter bottle of Canadian whisky. Shit.

He rushed to the blond's side, worried something had happened in his country.

"Matthew…Canada? What's wrong _amico mio_? What happened?" he knelt down to nudge his shoulder. "Damn it! Answer me maple-bastard. You're scaring me."

He violently shook the drunk nation, until the Canadian hesitantly lifted his head.

"L-Lovino? Is t-that you?" He coughed, his hoarse voice and dry mouth irritating his air passageway.

"Of course it's me. I'm here for you. Tell me what happened." He awkwardly patted his back. Cheering people up had never been his forte; that was Feliciano's field of expertise.

"I thought you went b-back to Italy," he sniffled.

"What? Why the fuck would I do that?" he snapped, outraged.

"I dunno…I'm sorry. It's just, e-everyone always ends up l-leaving me in the end."

"What, so you thought you could just-" He held his tongue; getting mad at him was probably not the wisest thing to do at the moment. The kid already felt bad enough.

He sighed. "No, Matthew. I would never do that to you. I could never leave you, even if you asked me to…and I would never cause you any sort of pain on purpose, ever."

'I love you too much for that…'

"Thank you." The blond sniffed before adding, "I feel a lot better now. Thanks for reminding me that not everything I touch turns _en de la merde_."

"Of course." He lifted the nearly passed out country off the floor and carried him upstairs, to the master bedroom. He then proceeded to tuck him into bed. Once that was done, he darted his eyes around the room. It was mostly red and maple leaf themed, with a few knickknacks here and there. Overall, it was exactly as one would picture it, and he loved it.

He then jumped, hearing a voice at his side.

"Lovino?"

His hazel orbs travelled to the angel under the covers. "Yes?"

"There's some food for you downstairs…. It's to show how much your friendship means to me. I hope you'll like it." With that, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his breathing evening out.

South Italy just stood there for a moment, utterly speechless. Matthew had gone out of his way to make him happy and in return, he had made him cry. It had obviously not been on purpose, but it still made him feel exceedingly guilty.

He slightly bent down to tuck the golden bangs out of the slumbering man's face. He then cupped one of the porcelain cheeks and kissed his forehead ever so gently.

" _Ti amo tanto, il mio tesoro…amore mio. Sei la mia gioia_. I'll make sure to tell you that soon," he whispered against his temple.

As quietly as possible, he left the room. He was curious as to what the Canadian could have possibly cooked for him. That was yet another reason why he loved him so much; Matthew was selfless and, as such, always did what he could to make others happy.

A mouth-watering aroma filled his nostrils as he stepped foot in the kitchen. Earlier, he had been too alarmed to pay attention to anything else but the broken Canadian.

He uncovered the aluminum foil and gasped at what he saw. It was a huge bowl of tortiglioni mixed with the perfect amount of green pesto sauce. He grabbed a fork and hurriedly dug in.

He closed his eyes in bliss.

There was just the right amount of garlic and the dish was not overly oily, just the way he liked it.

He preferred pasta hot, but cold was good too, so long as it was pasta.

He then began analyzing the meal; the pasta itself was cooked al dente and had an aftertaste of egg, a sign that the Canadian had actually made the dough himself. In addition, judging the noodles carefully, he could tell each one had been individually rolled and made. His Northern treasure could have used a pasta machine, but he had chosen to make them by hand.

After gobbling down half of the colossal amount of pasta, he scraped some of the pesto from the bottom of the bowl to taste it on its own.

He had eaten so many different tasting green pestos that he instantly knew Matthew had made that himself as well. From how fresh it tasted, the Italian nation could tell he had used fresh basil leaves and had chopped the pine nuts himself.

…Wait, those were not pine nuts.

He looked closer and, upon further inspection, noticed small specks of reddish brown instead of the hazelnut beige one would normally expect.

Had Matthew somehow known he preferred almonds over pine nuts?

The thought struck a chord somewhere within him and a rush of warmth overwhelmed his senses.

Only he could cause such extreme reactions within his very being.

Yet, the feeling was rapidly replaced with demoralization; what he, himself, had been planning to cook paled in comparison. Matthew must have taken hours to make this. After all, making pasta from scratch is a rather difficult task, especially for a first-timer.

Oh well…. At least he had tried. The Canadian was easily pleased anyway, so he would probably still be thankful and appreciate the intent.

He then literally slapped himself; Matthew deserved the best, and only the best. Half-assed efforts were not going to cut it.

With renewed vigour and determination, he scrunched up his sleeves and set to work.

If Lovino, a pure-blooded Italian, was too hesitant at the moment to admit his feelings out loud, then he would make Matthew know through his cooking.

What was that saying again?

Oh yeah… 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach'.

Right.

* * *

End of Chapter Three – Fin du Chapitre Trois

Translations (and yes they're all accurate, as always):

 _sua madre_ – his mom. In Italian, you don't say ' _la sua madre_ ', or ' _il suo padre_ ' (his father). Family members (even step parents) are an exception to that rule. That's why I only wrote ' _sua madre_ '.

 _tourtière à la Québécoise_ – it's this traditional meat pie typically eaten in Quebec, and it's made with minced veal/beef and flavored with chopped onions and spices. There are variations to it though (you could replace the beef with pork, for example). But, trust me; they're really good. I usually eat it in the fall season before the cold weather comes; it's a great comfort food.

 _Amico mio_ – My friend

 _en de la merde_ – into shit (in this context)

 _Ti amo tanto, il mio tesoro…amore mio. Sei la mia gioia_ – I love you so much, my treasure…my love. You are my joy.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

The reason Matthew's dish was still warm when he got home is because Burlington is pretty close to Montreal. By car, it takes about 3 hours to get there. Therefore, it made sense to me that by helicopter, Matthew would get back to Montreal quite rapidly. I mean, if you take a plane to Orlando, Florida, it takes about 2-4 hours (depending) to get there. Yet, driving there takes a good 22 hours. In other words, there's a huge difference between driving and flying. I mean, I'm fairly certain that a plane travels faster than a chopper (other word for helicopter), but the pasta still being warm is still a logical assumption in my opinion.

Yes, the glowing yellow sign is Tim Hortons.

Also, I started writing this story before Valentine's day…. That's why the story is like a week in the past, and why the doughnut Alfred ate was Valentine's Day themed. Don't mind little details like that; it's just easier for me to come up with ideas. :)

One last thing: tortiglioni is a type of pasta, in case you didn't get it. And besides green pesto ( _pesto verde_ ), there's also this thing called ' _pesto rosso_ ', which translates to red pesto. It's made with red peppers, which gives it its color. Both pestos are good, and a 'must try'. Whenever I go to Olive Garden (*cough* fake Italian food *cough*), I never see those sauces as an option (at least so far). I still go there whenever I'm in Florida lol, even though it's super Americanized. I like their salads…

A/N: Referring to a review left by a guest: yes, the Mexican food was authentic. If there's one thing anyone should know about Montreal, it's that it is super multicultural. You want Chinese food? We got that. Want Indian, Italian, French, Japanese, Polish, Lebanese, and so on? We got that too. The best part; most of these restaurants serve authentic dishes. Actually, people here really like Portuguese chicken. And I don't blame them; it is quite good, especially with some 'piri piri' sauce haha. However, you've got to know where to go obviously. Some restaurants, whether Mexican or whatever, are better than others. Therefore, if you're from out of town, ask a Montrealer about the best restaurants to visit. There are quite a few favorites amongst the citizens ;) Or else, PM me and I'll tell you what you want to know! Don't be shy now, my dear readers.

Hoping I still meet your expectations,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	4. Chapter 4:Old Montreal & Beaver Tails

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters. As per usual, I own nothing. I don't own pandas or American bald eagles, and nor do I want to; they belong in the wild. I also don't own the show "How I Met Your Mother", although I did love it while it still aired. They did bash Canadians quite a bit, but I thought it was actually quite funny!

A/N: I find this chapter is a touch on the sad side… well, a little sadder than the others so far. Also, I make Alfred very sharp in this story. In the anime itself, I get the impression that he only pretends to be a goofball, while in reality, he's actually quite clever. America is, after all, a powerful country. It's not by being an idiot that you become a superpower. Regardless, I wrote this thinking all the while of Matthew and his fear of being abandoned. I hoped I made it clear concerning why he is taking so much time to understand Romano's romantic intentions, and why he's slowly starting to warm up to him. I personally don't like unhappy endings, so I'm telling you guys now, Matt will end up responding to Lovino's affections. Reminder: as I said in chapter 1, this story will end up with an M rating, but only in the last chapter or so.

Warning: Romano's foul language.

I apologize if Romano, Canada and America seem OOC. I try not to, but I find it still turns out that way... I hope it's just me being hard on myself.

Before I forget, I would like to thank you all. Whether you reviewed, followed, favorited or simply read this story, I am genuinely grateful. Merci à vous. J'adore tous et chacun d'entre vous (Thank you. I adore each and every one of you).

Enjoy!

 **Canadian Refuge**

Romano woke up the next morning to a blond whirlwind kicking his door open and jumping him in bed.

The wind being knocked out of him, he still felt enough strength to read the alarm clock on his bedside table.

10 a.m.

He had slept for only four measly hours. Yet, he still could not find it in him to push the intruder off him, like he would have done to anyone else at any other time.

The golden mop of hair lifted to reveal cerulean eyes… not Matthew's mesmerizing indigo eyes, like he had expected.

Enraged, the grumpy Italian shoved whoever was on top of him off of the bed.

With a heavy bump, Alfred yelped in pain.

"What the hell dude? What was that for?"

" _Stati Uniti_ … Isn't it I that should be asking you? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING POUNCING ON ME SO EARLY IN THE MORNING, HAMBURGER-BASTARD?" he ended up yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Damn, chill a little will ya? That hurt," the blond whined while rubbing the back of his head.

"Let me ask nicely then: why are you here, _idiota_?"

"First of all, it's not that early; it's ten in the morning. Second, I stopped by to bring back Mattie's car, and to retrieve my chopper. Third, I couldn't help but want to tackle you ever since I saw how ecstatic my twin is."

"What are you talking about?" His sleep-deprived mind was clueless.

"Jeez, do I have to spell it out for you? The food! He's practically stuffing his face down there. I've never seen him eat so fast."

Oh…

He remembered now; he had spent the greater half of the night baking and cooking for the one person that was worth it in his eyes.

"You should go see him. He'll probably kiss you from how happy he looked." The American wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

That was all the South Italian needed to hear to jump out of bed and nearly run out of the room.

Alfred chuckled; the guy was so obvious. Seriously, people should give him credit and praise his intelligent mind. Now, he knew for sure that Romano was pining over his little brother.

For once, he was the one that had comprehended something before his twin. And they called him dense.

He shook his head.

* * *

Matthew stuffed his – what was it? Fortieth? Fiftieth? – Nanaimo bar into his mouth. _Dieu, qu'elles étaient bonnes_!

His hand was a few inches from grabbing the fifth-to-last maple-glazed doughnut, which he had been drowning in even more maple syrup, when Lovino barged into the kitchen.

They stared at each other for a moment, until finally, the Canadian broke the silence.

"Did you make these?" he gestured to the small brown and white bars.

"Uhm… yeah." He could not, for the life of him, think of anything better to say.

"Well these are amazing. _Si savoureux_ …" He popped an other square into his mouth, humming in delight.

"I'm glad you like them."

Matthew nodded in response, his eyes closed in bliss.

"Speaking of delicious food, the pasta you made was one of the best I've ever tasted, and that's saying something. It could easily rival Feli's."

The blond stopped what he was doing, choosing to look down at the floor. "Sorry about yesterday. I went a little overboard. I got paranoid when I noticed you weren't home and immediately assumed you, my closest friend, had abandoned me." His shoulders hunched over in shame.

"Matthew…you don't ever have to worry like that again. So cheer up, _l'amico_." He earned himself a grateful smile from the pale man. Surely, he was going to get the Northerner to stop calling him 'friend' one of these days. "How 'bout we do something today." He slowly approached the Canadian. "We could go get some…how do you call it, 'cue de castohr'? My treat." He brushed a thumb over the corner of his angel's soft pink lips, wiping a bit of maple syrup mixed with chocolate.

The younger nation turned strawberry red, and gulped loudly. "I-it's pronounced ' _queue de castor_ '. H-how did you know about those?"

"None of that matters." He brought his hand back. "I do, however, remember seeing a place that sold them a few days back in Old Montreal. I've been curious ever since."

"Alright, we can go back. I'll tell you all about them too… that is, if you want to hear it, of course."

Romano simply smiled, gesturing the Canadian in an 'after you' motion. His gentlemanliness could put Arthur's to shame, he mused.

On the other side of the wall, standing in the main hall was Alfred, feeling satisfied knowing his brother was in good hands.

"Kids these days," he chuckled to himself, before sneaking out of the house. He knew he had to intervene soon, but not yet. He would wait a few more days before making a move concerning the two; he wanted his brother to be happy, and he would be damned before he allowed himself to fail from achieving at least that.

* * *

The small shop was cozy and had a friendly atmosphere. The walls were made out of wood, copying the look of a typical log cabin seen regularly in parts north of the city, such as in the Laurentians. White chandeliers resembling deer antlers lit up the room, the crystals hanging from each branch glistering in the dwindling sun's rays.

The pair made it to the front of the shop, Romano staring at the large menu incredulously, while the man at his side analyzed it with childish glee.

The cashier, seeing this, smiled and left to allow them time to decide their order.

"Okay, so basically, there are various toppings that could come with it. My personal favorite is 'apple-cinnamon' with a dose of maple syrup, but there's also 'heath bar cheesecake', 'cookies and cream avalanche', and 'chocolate-banana'. You could always get the plain one that's just covered in brown sugar," the Canadian explained.

"You know, I'm surprised that even after what you ate this morning, you accepted to come here. Who knew you were a sweet-toothed version of your brother," he teased. "Hmm… I suppose I should take the 'chocolate-banana'. It sounds like a safe choice to me. Yeah, I'll go with that."

"Alright." He waved to the girl behind the counter, "Excuse me, miss?"

* * *

The Italian frowned at the fried pastry. "It looks like some sort of pizza…but Americanized."

The blond laughed at that. "Just eat it and see for yourself. I'll then give you a bite of mine if you'd like. Who knows, eh? Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want an other?"

The other male grumbled, staring at the dessert some more before finally taking a large bite.

It was good and not too greasy like he had expected. It had a nice crunch and was just sweet enough due to the banana balancing off well with the chocolate spread. Maybe he would take Matthew up on his offer…

For now, he enjoyed the treat. He could get used to the North American way of living.

* * *

"We should go get some lunch…. There's a _poutine_ place close by we could go to. They do have this really good pulled pork _poutine_ there. Nah, the original is better, especially if it'd be his first one. The first always has to be the real thing…" Matthew thought to himself out loud.

"What the hell? We just ate! How could you still be hungry? Damn, you're worse than your brother!" Romano exclaimed, bewildered.

His tone had managed to pull the Canadian out of his inner monologue.

"What are you talking about? That was just a snack. Now the real fun begins. By the way, did you know my citizens created an Italian _poutine_?" At the European's shocked expression, he continued. "Yeah. It's the same thing as regular _poutine_ , but you replace the gravy with tomato sauce."

"…What is wrong with your people? You can't just pair tomato sauce with anything; tomatoes are sacred. Just when I thought I would try your stupid dish that probably clogs your arteries on the spot…"

"Oh don't be such a baby. Italian _poutine_ is but only one of the numerous variations of _poutines_ Canadians have come up with. I mean, people mix anything with _poutine_. There's barbecue rib-flavoured _poutine_ , there's the one I mentioned with pulled pork, there's the mac 'n' cheese _poutine_ , there's also the maple _poutine_ , but that's more of a dessert in my opinion. I know there's more, but I can't remember right now. Regardless, how about we go and try it out for ourselves?"

Romano stared at him warily; the thought of pouring his beloved tomato sauce over greasy French fries and curd cheese upset his stomach.

Bah, he would deal with it. It would most likely make Matthew happy judging by the pleading look on his face.

Besides, seeing his angelic smile was always worth it.

"Fine. You win. But, don't expect me to try that so-called 'Italian' version. That would just be pushing it." He crossed his arms in a huff.

"I wasn't expecting you to~" The Canadian skipped away.

As expected, a megawatt smile had formed on the younger man's face.

" _Oi paisano_ , hold up!" He yelled after the retreating form, his heart all the while swelling with pride.

* * *

As they entered the small restaurant, a young waiter warmly greeted the newcomers and designated them to a table. There was a nice homey atmosphere to the place. Looking somewhat similar to where they had bought the Beaver Tails, this establishment had wooden walls except for one that was entirely made of windows.

Sitting down, Matthew looked out the glass wall to see shoppers strolling by, burying their noses deep into their scarves or winter coats in an attempt to warm their faces.

The worker came back and provided them with white square ceramic plates, glasses of water, and menus.

Knowing what he wanted, Matthew pushed the menus to the side and told the waiter to come back in a few moments.

"Is it okay if we share a _poutine_? I was thinking of just ordering the regular kind, unless you want something more fancy? To be honest, I just wanted to come here so that you could get a taste of what it is. _Poutine_ is a pretty big deal here, and most people love it," he explained casually, while sipping his water.

Romano took a few seconds to push down the rising blush in his neck and cheeks by pretending to cough. "No. I don't mind," came the barely audible response.

"Romano? What's wrong? I don't recall ever hearing you talk so quietly befo-"

"Nothing's wrong! I'm fine. I just chocked on air for a second," the Italian interrupted quickly, downing his glass. He hoped the blond would keep it at that.

"Uh…. Okay." A glint of suspicion flashed in his eyes for but a nanosecond until it was replaced by indifference.

The waiter, with an impeccable sense of timing, then came back and took their orders.

* * *

The brunet stared at the elliptic white ceramic bowl, blinking occasionally.

"…This is it? What the hell is that brown stuff? I could practically smell the calories from here."

"Yup, this is _poutine_. The brown sauce is the gravy. You can't have a proper _poutine_ without it; it melts the cheese and gives the dish its _je ne sais quoi_. Try it." He pushed the bowl towards the grimacing European.

Tentatively, he poked a gravy covered fry with his fork and bit the tip.

"Lovi… you're supposed to take a portion and put it on your own plate. That's why we both have our own plates."

Romano had forgotten about that. Sure enough, he looked to his left and there was the platter. He was sure that if inanimate objects could have a face, the stupid thing would be smirking up at him.

He looked back to the man occupying the seat in front of him. "I don't see the need in dirtying more plates. Why can't we just share from the same bowl?"

'Can't you see I'm trying to make a Canadian version of 'Lady and the Tramp'?' he continued in his mind.

The North American cocked his head to the side, before finally explaining, "Because Canada is a civilized country where people eat off of their own plates due to it being a cleaner way to dine…. It's also because it kinda irks me." He was quick to correct himself, "I mean not just with you. I mean with anyone, including even my twin." He then proceeded to take a portion for himself, missing the hurt look on the Europeans' face.

Romano composed himself; he knew he had not meant that as a bad thing. It still stung though. If sharing food grossed Matthew out, then what about all of the kissing and 'mature' things he desired to do with him?

He looked to his plate and grudgingly took a forkful from the bowl, depositing it onto his own to then take a full bite.

Fireworks suddenly lit up in his mind's eye; where had this dish been all his life?

"This is amazing!" he exclaimed once he had swallowed. He then proceeded in shoveling the food into his mouth, devouring anything he could manage to get under his fork. He loved the squeaky noises the curd cheese made between his teeth while he chewed. It was oddly satisfying. Besides that, the French fries were beautifully golden and crispy, while the gravy was not too heavy on the salt and of a good consistency: not too runny, not too thick. Overall, the Italian man understood why this was considered a comfort food, a _Québécois_ ' guilty pleasure. It was perfect for the way he was feeling at the moment.

Canada watched his friend, chin resting on the palm of his hand. He had honestly just come here so that the European could experience some more of the cuisine he was proud to know was from his country. Maybe the great taste of one of his world famous dishes would cheer the older man up. He had acted rather strangely before; it was impossible to choke on air, right? Besides, he had expected this type of reaction to his food; he had never met anyone that hated poutine, after all.

* * *

After paying the tab, the duo made their way outside, a freezing gust of wind whipping at every inch of uncovered skin.

The Canadian suddenly grabbed the other man's arm, instantly gaining the latter's attention.

"Now that were done eating, do you want to go home? It's just, you must be tired from making all those Nanaimo bars." He buried his face as deep into his coat as possible, effectively hiding the faint redness smudging his cheeks; whenever someone went out of their way to cook for him, he could not help but feel giddy inside. He guessed he got that from Francis, considering his love for food.

The Latin country shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm actually not all that tired," he lied.

"Oh good! Listen, there's this little shop a couple of streets down that I would like to see with you. It's sort of an artistic representation of my history before Francis made me his colony. I've never really shown it to anyone before. I've always considered it as a secret part of me that no one but myself and my people know about…. Would you like to see it?"

The third-to-last sentence had caused his brain to turn to mush, until he hastily regained himself. Honestly, even if he could never say 'no' to Matthew regardless of the circumstance, he had to stop becoming so hopeful whenever he said or did something nice. It was getting annoying to constantly have to come up with explanations for his odd behaviour.

He had to try and learn to conceal his emotions. It would be quite the challenge, what with Italians being emotional people in general, but he would do it in order to prevent himself from appearing like such a love-sick fool.

"Of course I would. I'm honored that you trust me enough to the point you want to show me something like that," he managed to seem casual about it.

At that, the blond smiled gratefully, his arm still clinging to the Italian's unnecessarily.

* * *

A step through the door explained the Canadian's attachment to the store.

Hundreds of figurines made from ivory, whale bone, soapstone, amongst other materials, and varying in size were displayed on shelves and glass countertops all around the room.

Some depicted people hunting seal, fish, or whales. Others were of totems, harpoons, Inuit inukshuks, dog sleds, canoes…

Most, however, were animal-shaped: polar/grizzly/kermode bears, beavers, caribou, lynx, wolves, snowy owls, wild salmon, loons…

Ultimately, it was simply breathtaking, an artfully creative portrayal of the country from its early years.

"These are carvings and sculptures that the Indigenous peoples of Canada have always traditionally made. For example, this one" he pointed towards a medium-sized carving depicting a woman carrying an infant in the hood of a parka, "shows an Inuit mother travelling with her child. They could only have a few children, if they were lucky, during their lifespan since resources are limited in the areas where they originally live. Therefore, giving birth could only be done when they knew it was going to be a good year. The further you go up North, the less amount of liquid fresh water there is, since most of it is in the form of glaciers or snow. There is also less wildlife that can actually survive the arctic environment, meaning less sources of food. And they couldn't count on growing much crops, since most of the land is composed of ice banks and frozen tundra." The nation gazed at the work of art wistfully for a short moment. "Moving on," he walked towards the shape of an animal resembling a combination between a unicorn and a beluga whale, "this is a narwhal. The helical tusk you see at the front of its head makes it a worthy opponent to anything wishing to harm it. In real life, it uses it to pierce through predators as well as hunt for food. They live in the arctic waters of Canada, as well as in Greenland and Russia." He smiled sadly. "Now they're on the brink of extinction… just like most of my fauna and flora." The pained look in his eyes said everything.

His friend was quick to react. "I know… but that's the case for almost everywhere around the world. Just look at China with his pandas, or America with the bald eagle. It's just the way the world has become," Romano attempted to soothe his Northern treasure's misery.

"Yeah…" the blond trailed off regretfully, heading towards the other side of the store. The statuette he gestured towards this time around was that of two young women picking corn. "The Iroquois used to cultivate the lands surrounding their longhouses, or ' _maisons-longues_ ' in French. They were sedentary, unlike the Algonquin tribes that would migrate from place to place, according to the seasons and food availability," he scratched his cheek. "Anyways, did you know that pumpkins, blueberries and what we now know as corn, among other things, came from North America, while tomatoes originated in South America, but were grown here as well?"

Romano did a double take at that... His favorite food of all time was from the New World? Antonio had lied…

"No… I didn't," he admitted. The next time he would see that damned Spaniard, he was going to throttle him.

Matthew, not realizing the can of worms he had just opened, continued, "Yeah, Spain took his beloved tomato from there and brought it back to Europe."

"You don't say…"

"Anyways, how 'bout we check out the basement. It's where all the jewellery and furs are."

* * *

There was a sight to behold indeed once they made their way down the stairs.

Luxurious and beautifully beaded moccasins adorned the shelves, and furs of various animals were either displayed on the floor as carpets or hung on coat racks. Dreamcatchers were dangling from the ceiling, and at the far end of the room, Romano could see numerous collections of opulent earrings and other jewellery in a wide array of colors.

He was in complete awe.

A voice pulled him out of his silent contemplation.

"My First people made most of their clothes from animal skins and furs. The Algonquin tribes would use skins and tree barks, usually birch, to make their wigwams as well."

"Huh?"

Matthew chuckled at his friend's confused expression. "A wigwam is basically a tent. Like I said before, the Algonquins were nomadic and therefore needed their houses to be light enough in order to be able to travel great distances by foot. Anyways, my first inhabitants needed these furs to survive the rigorous winters. When France and the other European nations came, however, they exploited my resources and started wanting more and more furs. This was called the 'Fur Trade', or ' _le troc des fourrures_ ' in French. It's more widely known as ' _la traite des fourrures_ ' though. You see, there was a great demand for furs in Europe, particularly beaver fur. They had depleted the European beaver population by so much, that they took advantage of the abundance of American beavers to fulfill this need. The thing is, they went too far with that. It was bad enough that the French, the Dutch and whatnot were only using the furs for fashion purposes, like to make hats, rather than for survival, but they were the ones who introduced guns to my people." He looked away while sighing. "It all went downhill from there. Different tribes started attacking each other more often than before. The Iroquois would increasingly ravage and massacre the camps of other nations and vice versa. Then the English got involved…. Point is, it was a rocky period of my life that I don't like to talk about. Though, I feel like it's important that you know. I still wish I could have helped out more, but I was still such a tiny colony. I didn't see all of this as such a bad thing at the time; France would come to visit me and tell me how much he loved me. Yet, he lost me to Arthur and forgot about me. Once England got what he wanted from me, he forgot me too… and it's been a never ending cycle ever since." He looked off into the distance, a dull look in his usually sparkling mauve eyes.

Lovino let him be. Internally, however, he was boiling with rage; the fact that Matthew had given them so much yet still remained invisible in their eyes was infuriating.

How dare they?

* * *

They exited the shop in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts: one reflecting on his past, the other plotting mass slaughter.

It remained this way for much of the drive home, until Romano spoke.

"I'm sorry."

The vehicle briefly swerved off to the side.

"For what?" came the dry reply.

"Don't play dumb with me. For what they did to you… I'm sorry they put you through that. I'm sorry they still do…"

The blond's sole reaction was a twitch of the lips, until he violently steered the wheel towards the side of the road, bursting into tears once he had put the car on 'park'.

Luckily for them, the street they were on was currently empty.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, the older nation watched the normally strong younger man break down next to him. He panicked, not knowing what to do. He followed his gut and wrapped his arms around the trembling blond, squeezing him towards himself as much as he could.

 _Dio_ , what had he done?

He ceased reprimanding himself when a whimper found its way to his ears.

He immediately loosened his hold, not wanting to hurt his dearest anymore than he had, correction: how they had.

"Why are you sorry? It's not like they cared anyway. Heck, no one cares about me. All I'm good for is maple syrup and hockey. That's all people know about me. Do you know what some people think about Canadians? That they ride moose everywhere they go and live in igloos! They think we're prehistoric or something. But I have cars too! I have skyscrapers and factories and technology and high speed Internet. And we're not just good at hockey, we're good at speed skating, figure skating, snowboarding and the list goes on. Did you know that it was a Canadian who invented basketball? Me! It just so happens that Alfred's better at it..." he hiccupped. "Everyone overlooks me all the time until they want something from me. All I do is give, and it's never enough. They still end up forgetting me. Hell, the last time I had the Olympics back in 2010, some people thought it was taking place in America. They had no idea it was Vancouver, Canada! Vancouver is one of my biggest cities and people still got it wrong. What did I do to deserve that? I thought that, by hosting something as big as the Olympics, people would acknowledge me more. Just for a bit. I don't ask for much. For just this once, I wanted to be in the spotlight." He shook uncontrollably.

It felt good to just rant and get it all out. All of his pains and sufferings that had accumulated over time. What felt even more amazing was to have someone listen to him… to have someone understand… comprehend just how difficult it was to be left in the shadows… to not feel wanted and cared for.

Romano still held him; he knew Matthew had more to get off his chest.

"Do you know what tourists ask me? If the Queen of England lives in Canada, because her face is all over my money. Then they have the audacity to ask me if my currency is the Pound. It's called a Canadian Dollar, you moron! Sometimes I see American tourists with skis strapped to the roofs of their minivans, IN THE MIDDLE OF JULY! It's as if people think that it's winter all year round here! I have summers too! Damn hot ones sometimes, in certain parts." He was hyperventilating, his adrenaline rush wearing out. He was so tired of the ignorance, of the stereotypes, of the idiotic questions. He just wished everyone, including Canadians, could get more educated, because the sheer stupidity some people displayed was overwhelming. If, at least, they would be more polite…. Some people got extremely offended when he would tell them how long it took to drive from Toronto to Edmonton. Excuse him for being such a large country. Furthermore, that damned 'How I Met Your Mother' show really grinded his gears. Thank the Maple Gods they had finally ended it.

Lovino felt the Canadian slump in his arms; the poor thing had most probably exhausted himself by talking so much. The Italian, himself, could talk a lot more, for a lot longer, but for Canada – considering he rarely even uttered a word at meetings, unless someone spoke directly to him – it had been a lot.

Feeling that the Canadian was done speaking, he gently lifted the blond's face with his forefinger. "Matthew, look at me, please." He rarely was so polite, but this situation demanded for some tact.

The North American lazily fluttered his eyelids open, liquid pearls adorning the corners of his eyes.

"I care about you. I could never forget you even if I tried. You're just that important to me," he admitted. He was not going to say anything more than that; Matthew was way too emotionally frail right now. He would confess his feelings when he felt his angel could take it.

A small smile found its way on the blond's face. "Thank you Lovi. I don't know what I would do if you deserted me too." He yawned. "Do you think you could drive for the rest of the way?"

"Yeah, I know how to drive us back. Your house is only a few streets away." He looked around, instantly recognizing the shops and apartment buildings.

"Don't forget that you can't turn right at a red light. It's illegal in this city."

"Got it."

He released his hold on the younger man and gently sat him back in his seat. He then got out of the car to walk towards the driver's side. He opened the back door before opening the front one. He then slid his left arm under Matthew's knees, and the other behind his upper back, lifting him up once he felt he was securely in his arms. He proceeded to set his precious cargo down on the back seat, buckling him up with the velvety seatbelt.

* * *

The drive back, Romano had made sure, had taken more time than necessary. Unlike his usual speedy, brusque way of driving, he had gone slower than the speed limit allowed and had cautiously looked at all of the mirrors and blind spots, at every intersection, all for the sake of Matthew's safety.

He would never have believed that he could pull off such a feat, that is, until the Canadian had entered the equation.

He parked the car in the familiar driveway, turning the engine off.

Once he had lifted the half-asleep nation bridal style, the European walked towards the house, careful not to disturb his charge.

Not one foot had gone through the front door when Matthew had begun burying his face in the Italian's chest.

Frozen in place, all Lovino could do was look down and watch.

There was no telling what the Latin nation would do if it continued, so Lovino did the only thing he could think of: he ran into the house, hurriedly dropping the North American on the couch, then raced up the stairs and locked himself in his room to calm his constricting chest down.

After a moment, he then swore loudly; in his haste to get away from the Canadian, he had forgotten to close the entrance door. Canada had relatively low crime rates, but what if someone attacked the blond in his sleep when he, himself, was under the same roof?

He fumed at the thought.

* * *

The door now securely locked, he was on the way back to his room when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

He slapped the hand away and whirled around, still on his emotional high from before, only to notice the barely awake nation yawning in front of him.

"Matthew? Sorry about leaving you on the couch. Are you okay?" He hoped the blond was not too angry at him.

"…" Matthew seemed deep in thought.

South Italy, nervous from the lack of response, slowly inched away. "Alright, well good night. I'm gonna go now." He turned around but stopped dead in his tracks when Canada called out to him.

"Wait. Don't go... please?"

Surprised, but curious, he patiently waited for the blond to continue.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

The Italian took a sharp intake of breath, if only his angel knew how bad of an idea that actually was.

"I don't know Matthew…"

The Canadian's lips trembled slightly. He was desperate for some companionship; a man could only go so long feeling lonely until he loses his sanity. "I can't be alone tonight. You said you cared for me, right?" He paused. He was polite, but he had never been a beggar; his current moment of weakness was not going to change that. "Well you know what? Just this once, I'm going to be selfish and oblige you to keep me company."

With that, he took the shell-shocked brunet's hand and dragged him upstairs.

* * *

Not daring to move a single muscle, Romano lay under the red covers awkwardly. Matthew had fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow. He was debating whether he should sneak back to his own room, which would probably hurt the Canadian once he woke up the next morning, or stay, and let the knowledge of having his Northern treasure sleeping but a foot away torment him.

He turned his head, watching the steady rising and falling of the young man's chest. _Dio_ , his soft golden locks were drawing him closer – a bumblebee to honeycombs.

Just this once, he would let himself succumb to the temptation.

He scooted over and, ever so gently, draped an arm around his darling's waist. The slumbering nation tensed briefly before relaxing once more.

The Southern Italian smiled to himself, a feeling of pure triumph overpowering his senses.

When one had been in love with the same individual for more than a century, simple moments like these made life infinitely brighter.

His thoughts then wandered off to the man in his arms. He wondered if Matthew had ever had a lover. Judging from his previous reaction, he guessed the Canadian was unused to people getting so close, let alone touching him.

His head could not wrap around the fact that his treasure was unseen by most. How was that even remotely possible? Matthew's personality would make anyone fall in love, and he could not even begin to describe his physical beauty, for no word in any language could ever do it justice. The young country was a rare finding indeed, of a greater value than any gold or jewel known to the human race.

Sooner than anticipated, the Canadian's soporific intakes and outtakes of breath lulled the sleep-deprived Italian to do the same.

With his eyes now closed and his brain devoid of thoughts, South Italy's arm remained anchored in place for the duration of the night.

End of Chapter Four – Fin du Chapitre Quatre

Translations:

 _Stati Uniti_ – United States, in Italian. Bonus: if you want to say 'I am American', you say 'sono americano/a(for a girl)'.

 _Dieu, qu'elles étaient bonnes_! – God, were they good! ' _Une barre Nanaïmo_ ', which is 'Nanaimo bar' in French, is a feminine word. That's why you use the feminine pronoun ' _elle_ ' to replace it. This dessert originated in Nanaimo (hence, the name), British Colombia, and they're so yummy~!

 _Si savoureux_ – So yummy/tasty/savoury.

 _l'amico_ – Friend, in this context. In French, you would say 'l'ami', but you can't say the same thing in English. That's why I left it to just 'friend'. However, ' _l'ami'_ , the word-for-word translation, would be 'the friend'.

 _Queue de castor_ – Beaver Tail. It's this fried pastry, like I explained. Because they're so popular in Quebec, many think it originated in this province, but this dessert is actually an invention from Ontario, shockingly enough. I, honestly, love them, but rarely indulge in them. It's a treat that I only eat when I'm out with friends. What's REALLY funny is the reactions I see from tourists. I have had so many people ask me if a Beaver Tail was actually the real animal's tail. I assure you; it's not. The reason it's called that way is because it looks like a beaver's tail; it's flat, wide and round around the edges. Canadians love beavers, so we wouldn't eat them (or so that's what I assume), moose on the other hand… (I don't eat those either, but some people say it's quite good…. Bope, I dunno.)

 _Oi paisano_ – Hey friend/compatriot/bro/brother. It's pretty much equivalent to 'homie'. In Italy, it's mostly said in the South, and used to call after someone you're  familiar with (you don't just call a stranger that, or so I was told). _Paisano_ , itself, literally means 'countryman' in English, or ' _paysan_ ' in French.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

The reason Romano blushes when they're at the poutine place and fakes a coughing fit is because when Matthew said "Is it okay if we share?", his imagination went wild and he thought of the famous spaghetti scene in 'Lady and the Tramp'. I thought this would make sense since when gravy is hot enough, the cheese curds melt (obviously). So when you lift a forkful of hot poutine in the air, you see the cheese become all stringy, thus why he thought of spaghetti hahaha. On a side note, poutine looks gross (especially when it's all gooey looking), but it's soooo good! I'm gonna be totally honest with you guys; the best tasting poutine is from Quebec. I guarantee it. I've had some in Ontario and the other western provinces (I haven't tried from the eastern ones yet), and they didn't even use cheese curds (They used grated cheese)! That's a huge no no! ;)

One last thing: There exists this thing in Montreal called 'Poutine Fest'. It's, as the name suggests, a poutine festival where you can try ANY type of poutine imaginable. It's super popular and so many people attend. It's absolutely crazy! Just thought you guys should know :)

A/N: Hopefully, you guys learned a bit about the native peoples of Canada, and a bit of what they did and how they lived. The thing about the many living species (whether plants or animals) living in Canada being endangered is true, tragically enough. Like every country, Canada has an amazing amount of creatures and plants to learn about. Actually, Montreal, alone, has a lot of endangered species: _la couleuvre brune, la salamandre de Jefferson, le goglu des prés, la sanicle du Canada, l'aigremoine pubescente_ and so on (sorry if I only know their names in French. You could still 'google image' them if you wanna know what they are). The good news is that, recently, British Columbia adopted/approved a major nature protection agreement. Basically, 85% of the Great Bear Rainforest will now be  permanently protected from logging and whatnot. Nice job BC! On the other hand, it's going to take a long while before something like that happens in Quebec. Anywho, I sincerely hope that you appreciated this chapter :) If I could just send a little message to you all. Try and make a difference: simply refraining yourself from littering, closing the light when you leave a room, closing the tap while you brush your teeth in an effort to conserve water, and recycling papers and metals could really help make the planet just a little better to live in. I know you may hear this type of stuff often, but please make it a part of your daily lifestyle. It doesn't hurt to change bad habits once in a while. I'm sure many people can relate and agree with me on this; the winters are getting warmer and warmer with each passing year. I know it was an El Nino year this year, but the warm El Nino winds basically never make it all the way to Quebec; it usually only affects the Western parts of North America. A warm Canadian winter is obviously not a normal occurence.

Anyways….

Best wishes from Canada,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	5. Chapter 5: Vélo sous zéro & Legend Talk

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia at all. Nor do I own the Montreal Canadiens (God, I wish I could though. I just love Carey Price). Yeah… I own nothing.

A/N: I don't have much to say right now…. Anyways, there's no way that, as a Canadian, I would not evoke the topic of hockey. I mean please; I've been skating since the age of 3. So… I guess you could say I learned how to skate before I learned how to run. And I played hockey (I love that sport so so so much) for more than half my life before school basically forced me to stop. I guess it makes me a stereotypical hockey nut, huh?

As per usual, the characters may seem OOC to you (well, at least it sorta does to me), but I honestly try my best.

Bonne Lecture, mes amours (enjoy reading, my loves) !

 **Canadian Refuge**

He had no idea why in the world Matthew was making him do this. It was Sunday, February 14th, otherwise known as Valentine's day. He had hoped, for the occasion, to take the blond out for dinner and maybe, this time, succeed in winning him over…. But, no; the Canadian wanted to go biking… in the middle of February… when it was -25°C outside…

Romano was not happy at the present moment.

Actually… he was more confused than anything else; Matthew had said nothing that morning, when he had woken up in his arms. The Italian guessed that he had not minded it, since the Canadian had been the one to force him into bed with him. Still… the brunet had expected some sort of reaction: a blush, a smile…

Even an angry shout would have been better than the blank stare he had seen in those favorite violet eyes of his. He had no idea what to make of that.

South Italy then snapped out of his haze, and looked down to his steaming espresso. He was going to need it.

The things he did for the Canadian…

"Hey Lovi, you almost ready? I got the bikes all ready. I installed special winter tires. We wouldn't wanna slip, now would we?" He burst into the kitchen, a face-splitting smile adorning his features.

And that was why the Mediterranean nation could never bring himself to say 'no'.

Matthew was the only one that could make him do things willingly without knowing.

"Are you sure about this? Isn't it too cold to bike? I wasn't born in the Arctic like you."

Matthew laughed at that…. He actually laughed. Was the _ragazzo_ making fun of him? If it would have been anyone else, Romano would have bit their head off.

"Canada, I'm serious. I've suffered frostbite once before at Russia's house in Siberia." He shivered at the memory. "I'd prefer not having to live that again."

Matthew, understanding the other nation's concerns, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I would never encourage someone to get hurt on purpose. You're no exception. I'm telling you, you're going to love this. I've been participating in this event since it started two years ago, back in 2014. It's super fun," he paused to smile in remembrance, "It's kind of like our own form of rebellion against the colder months of the year." He chuckled in his hand.

Romano stopped in the nick of time from rolling his eyes. "Alright then." He sighed. "What did you say the name of this was?"

"It's called ' _Vélo sous zéro_ ', which basically means 'cycling when it's under zero degrees'. It promotes winter biking in Montreal. People here are pretty eco-friendly. Montrealers tend to use their bicycles or take public transportation to get around the city, rather than use their cars. However, when it starts snowing, it gets harder to take the bike without it being dangerous, which therefore forces many people to drive." He shrugged, "It can't be helped. Though nowadays, people are starting to make petitions to get snow removers to clear bike paths during the winter months, like at the Lachine canal. I don't know if the Mayor of the city will approve, but we'll see."

Romano just nodded; his part of the country had no such problem concerning snow and ice, so it was more difficult to relate to it.

* * *

As they walked towards the starting line, participants were slowly converging towards the area, most with excited smiles on their faces. Many could be seen pumping air into their wheels or adjusting safety features such as their helmets or ski goggles.

Romano looked in horror at the few men he could see sporting beards; the facial hair on most of them was white with frost. And why were people applying sunscreen?

Matthew, sensing his friend's distress, explained, "Don't worry about a thing. They're just protecting their skin from the sun. Just because it's cold here, it doesn't mean you can't get a sun burn. Trust me; you could." He looked around some more, noticing the Mayor of Montreal making his way over to a microphone stand. "That's him. He's the Mayor of the city. He doesn't know who I am though, so try not to mention anything while we're here, okay? As far as he knows, we're just normal people."

The Italian simply nodded, still slightly anxious for the moments to come.

* * *

The politician spoke for a moment, talking about how proud he was of Montrealers and their desire to stay fit and healthy even if the weather would make others think the contrary.

It was currently 9:50 a.m.

The event would start in ten minutes.

Feeling more and more unsure about this as seconds ticked by, Romano started to bite his lip mercilessly.

"Lovi…"

The Italian froze; he had to stay strong for the blond at his side.

"Lovino, if you don't want to do this, I won't force you. I didn't think you'd be so nervous. We could go back if you'd like."

"No, it's fine. How many kilometers is this?" If the many children he spotted around the area could do this, then he could do it too.

Matthew studied him for a moment, waiting for the smallest sign of anxiety to appear on his friend's face. When he found none, he spoke, "It's 17 km, but there's also a shortened version of 10 km. Which one would you prefer?"

"Can we do the 10 km one today?" came the hesitant question.

The blond smiled reassuringly. "Of course."

Volunteers suddenly came to inform them of the beginning of the event, coaxing them towards the starting line.

* * *

Cycling in the middle of winter turned out to not be so bad after all. After a few minutes, the biting cold ceased to affect him. He felt warm and cozy under his winter clothes, sunglasses making it all the while easier to see.

He stole a glance at Matthew and inwardly smiled; the blond seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

He made up his mind, and asked, "Hey Matthew?"

Pulled out of his reverie, the Canadian turned to the brunet, a fine eyebrow raised questioningly.

"I was thinking, how about we do the whole 17 kilometers? This is a lot better than I thought."

The blond chuckled, secretly over the moon at having successfully convinced the older nation just how fun this activity was. "Sure! I'm up for it if you are Lovi."

The bright smile the Italian loved seeing so much was back on his _tesoro_ 's face. He internally cheered; today was going to come out better than he initially anticipated.

* * *

Most of the day was allotted to peddling, Matthew pointing buildings out now and then, and explaining what they were.

"And that's the Olympic Stadium. Did you know that Montreal hosted the Summer Olympics in 1976? It was the first Canadian city to ever host the Olympics, and is the only one that's ever hosted the summer games. Calgary and Vancouver were winter hosts…. It was a proud moment for me," he elucidated while pointing towards the white dome-shaped infrastructure, a fond glimmer in his indigo orbs.

Romano peddled on next to him. Matthew had told him only moments before that the wind-chill was -30 °C. Yet, none of that came to mind as he felt his heart practically melt in his chest for the umpteenth time that day.

Feeling himself tipping over, he suddenly managed to stabilize his bike in the nick of time.

Curse his romantic Italian genes… sometimes.

On a side note, he had to admit; biking in the winter was actually nothing to fear. He had been scared of sliding off the bike path from the amount of ice and snow covering its surface, and getting hit by a car. However, none of that happened. It turned out to be quite enjoyable indeed, to his utter surprise.

The remaining 10 km distance was spent in a comfortable atmosphere, the Canadian continuing to point things out from time to time.

* * *

His legs feeling incredibly sore from the previous grueling physical activity, Romano let himself fall unceremoniously onto his bed as soon as he had arrived at his temporary home.

Nothing made sense anymore; Matthew, even after the total 17 km, had still shown a full reserve of energy. It seemed like the Northern nation had not even broken a sweat. His mind, wandering towards the perverse side of the thought spectrum, wondered how the Canadian's amazing stamina would fare in bed.

These series of thoughts came to a sudden halt from a knock at his bedroom door.

"Lovi? Mind if I come in?"

A muffled grunt seeming to be his sole response, Canada made his way into the room. "Are these your doing too?"

The Italian flipped onto his back and propped himself on his elbows. "Huh?"

"These." The Canadian uncovered the box he was holding, revealing the pile of neatly stacked meat pies.

"Oh those… yeah, they are. I thought I'd give you a break from being the one to always make supper. I mean, you're my host and all, so it's the least I could do to thank you for your hospitality." He shrugged.

The Canadian frowned. "Stop acting like it's not a big deal. Do you know how happy this has just made me? I'm the one who should be thanking you."

' _Dio_ is he cute. Even after all of his hard work to make me pasta, he still thinks that I'm the one that deserves praise,' was the Italian's assessment.

"I already preheated the oven, so dinner should be done in about half an hour, 'kay? I can't wait to try these. I'm sure they'll be fantastic," the blond spoke once more before clearing the doorway, a small spring in his step.

Lovino let himself fall back onto the plush comforter, his previous exhaustion forgotten as heart-warming satisfaction took its place. He refused to let it show in his features, however; he had to practice staying composed.

* * *

Having been called down for supper, Romano stopped dead in his tracks once he saw the Canadian holding that despicable bottle of fake tomato sauce. "Matthew… may I ask why you are putting that… stuff… on your slice of meat pie?" he tried to conceal his inner horror.

"Oh, you mean the ketchup? Well, most people here like to add it to _tourtière_. It's really good. Why don't you try it?" He pushed the bottle towards the still standing Italian.

The latter managed to keep a neutral expression. He tended not to judge any of Matthew's quirks, but putting that damned condiment on anything edible was, to him, an undeniable crime. "No thanks. I'd rather try the pie without anything. You know, to be able to taste the real deal simply on its own."

Canada seemed to know where he was coming from as he put the ketchup bottle back in the fridge. "You're right. You went through all this trouble to make these for me and I'm ruining them with ketchup." He took a bite of the dish and hummed in delight. "Either way, these are amazing. You've really outdone yourself Lovi." He brought another forkful to his mouth, unaware of his friend's inner turmoil against his quickly spreading blush.

South Italy managed to keep his skin from reddening, and plopped down in front of his host. He eyed the contents on the plate for a moment and dug in. He smirked to himself; he knew he had nailed it despite never having tasted it. He guessed his goal of impressing his angel of the North was a success, and thus allowed himself a mental pat on the back. Screw spending Valentine's Day giving your loved one roses and chocolates; this was so much better.

* * *

"Hey, have I ever told you about this Quebec urban legend called ' _La chasse-galerie_ ', by any chance?" The Canadian smiled, hiding his true excitement by nibbling on a Nanaimo bar. They had mutually decided to finish the Nanaimo bars and doughnuts, while they were still fresh, for dessert.

The European nation shook his head in a negative response. "No. Why?" They were currently in the living room, Kumajirou nestling itself on his owner's lap.

Looking pleased, the North American showed him the daily newspaper. "They just made a new movie about it. It's coming out the 26th. Thing is, it's not the exact story, but I still would love to see it." He paused, looking pensive for a moment. "Since you'll already be gone by the time it hits the theaters, I wondered if maybe you'd want me to tell you about it. It just so happens to be one of my absolute favorites."

The Mediterranean man, his interest piqued, urged the Canadian on by leaning his head forward.

Settling himself more comfortably on the plush couch cushions despite the cub's protests, the younger nation began.

* * *

"Wait, so the eight lumberjacks made a pact with the devil, and they used this cursed canoe… what's its name again?"

" _La chasse-galerie._ "

"Right. They used it to travel all the way back to their town just so that they could see their loved ones for the New Year's Eve party? You're telling me a flying canoe travelled all of those miles that fast, and back, in only one night?"

"Yeah."

"That's kinda weird."

"How's it 'weird'? Finland does the same thing every Christmas, but all over the world."

The older nation sat there pensively for a moment. "I guess you're right. But to get back to the story, you're telling me that after the eight men steered the canoe into coming in contact with the top of a church's cross, Satan let them live even after having expressly told them not to touch or say anything related to God?"

"In this particular version of the story, he did. He felt pity for the men and didn't take their souls, like he said he would. I guess even the devil could show mercy once in a while," he shrugged. "I still love this legend. It reminds me of how old Quebec actually is. Speaking of that, did I tell you that Montreal is turning 375 years old next year? The city is already planning different events to commemorate it, so you better make sure to clear your schedule for next February, Lovi." He waggled his finger in mock seriousness. "I know I'm way younger than you, but the fact that Montreal is one of my oldest cities makes me feel so elderly." He chuckled lightly, popping one of the few remaining bars in his mouth. The two nations, along with the pet bear, had managed to polish off the rest of the sweets over the course of Matthew's legend-telling.

"You? Old? You're but a _bambino_ compared to Europe," the brunet teased while poking the other's cheek.

Matthew swatted the hand away, laughing. "Yeah yeah, I already said I know."

Their playful banter over, silence ensued as the countries sat there smiling pleasantly at each other.

" _J'ai faim_ ," came the unwanted disturbance.

The Canadian patted his cub's head. " _On vient juste de manger Kuma-j'sais-pas-trop-quoi. Dis-moi pas que t'as encore le goût d'bouffer_ ," he answered in a typical _Québécois_ French. He glanced over towards his guest, "Just give me a moment. I'll be right back." He got up from the sofa, not hearing Romano curse under his breath, nor seeing the death glare being sent Kumajirou's way.

* * *

A dip in the couch cushion next to him indicated the Canadian's return. Before he could utter a single word, the blond beat him to it.

"So, what would you like to do tomorrow? I just realized how much I've been dragging you all over town, so I thought you should propose our next outing," he admitted while rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"Well… I would like to go skiing." He looked away. "But, my legs are aching too much," he grumbled, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it. Maybe we can go in a couple of days once you've recovered? If that's okay with you, of course."

The Italian turned back around. "How are you not hurt anyways? You make it seem as if you're used to biking all over the island everyday." He quirked an auburn eyebrow inquisitively.

The Canadian chuckled. "It's because I am used to it. It doesn't seem like it right now, but I, in fact, barely use my car. The only reason we've been driving everywhere is because you're here. I also need it in case of an emergency, but that's besides the point."

Romano shook his head to prevent himself from thinking how muscular the Canadian must be under all of those layers of loose clothing. He had never seen the young nation shirtless, something he had been hoping to get a peek of during his stay, but had not been presented with the chance.

He looked over to his host. "Anyways, can you think of something we can do that doesn't involve much physical movement?"

The Canadian's usual carefree expression quickly morphed in an uncanny way; what had previously been a smile turned into an eerie smirk. "Well… we could go see a Habs game. They're playing tomorrow night against one of Alfred's teams. If my memory serves me right, we're playing against the Arizona Coyotes." At this point, frightening pre-game tension practically radiated off of the blond.

Romano slowly inched away, careful not to alert the other of his subtle retreat; Matthew had just entered his crazy hockey fan mode. Who could be brave enough to stay around this lunatic version of his beloved? Not him anyways, and he was wise enough to know that. Those beatings he had seen Canada give Germany and Austria during the last Olympics made him tremble every time he remembered it, and not only in fear; Romano had to admit he liked Matthew's dominant side. It was downright alluring.

"Lovi?"

Snapping out of his prurient thoughts, he turned towards the Canadian, whose previous bellicosity was no longer showing on his face. "Huh? What?"

"You wanna go or not?"

That was another thing the Mediterranean had noticed; Matthew's stuttering had lessened considerably over the last few days. He guessed the blond was comfortable in his presence, not that he would ever complain, although he had found this disfluency rather adorable.

" _Si_. Is your brother coming?"

The North American smirked, "Of course he is. We always make time in our schedules to watch hockey together. You should see us during playoffs." He chuckled lowly. "It only gets more intense during the Olympics or other international competitions."

Romano took a moment to assess that newest bit of information. "If you had tickets for this game all along, then why would you ask me what I wanted to do?"

The Canadian shrugged. "I could have always cancelled. Missing one is not a big deal, especially since they're still regular season games right now. Alfred wouldn't have minded too much either; he's pretty understanding when it comes to stuff like that."

The European nodded absentmindedly. "Is the game here or there?"

"It's in Arizona, at the Gila River Arena. We'll be taking my private jet. Honestly, I didn't want one at first. But I must admit it's become a necessity concerning world meetings, and travelling to Europe and whatnot." He yawned. "It'll take, I'd say, around four to six hours to get there. So, we should leave sometime in the morning." He scratched his ear before getting up. "I'd suggest we get some shut eye; Arizona is in a different time zone. We wouldn't wanna be in anything less than tip top shape for the match right? I'll see you tomorrow Lovi. _Fais de beaux rêves_ ," were his last words before leaving the room, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

The Italian in question sat there a while longer, silently grousing while an imaginary storm brooded over his head. Life was plain unfair at times. If he were anything but in love, South Italy would never have agreed to attend a hockey game, especially in that obnoxious nation's land.

His feelings really did have a way of biting him in the ass.

He sighed; maybe experiencing a hockey game in North America, of all places, would be somewhat entertaining, especially with Matthew nearby.

End of Chapter Five – Fin du Chapitre Cinq

Translations:

 _ragazzo_ – boy/guy

 _bambino_ – kid/boy/child/infant. It would be 'bambina' for a girl.

 _J'ai faim_ – I'm hungry

 _On vient juste de manger Kuma-j'sais-pas-trop-quoi._ _Dis-moi pas que t'as encore le goût d'bouffer_. – We just ate Kuma-I-don't-really-know-what (the name works better in French though). Don't tell me you still feel like eating. ~ ' _bouffer_ ' is a synonym of ' _manger_ '; they both mean 'to eat'.

 _Fais de beaux rêves_ – Sweet dreams. Word for word, it would be something like 'do beautiful dreams'; that obviously doesn't make grammatical sense in English, but you still sorta get the right meaning.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

Yeah, people here bike during the winter. It's a normal thing. I have to admit that Montrealers in general are pretty active people.

Concerning the legend Matthew told Romano about; it is an actual Quebec urban legend (amongst MANY others; Quebec is pretty rich culturally speaking). I gotta say; ' _La_ _chasse_ - _galerie_ ' is my personal favorite. I strongly encourage you to look up this story if you're interested. It'll probably be hard to find an English version, but if you'd like, you could always PM me and I'll be more than glad to write to you! On a side note; I really wanna see the movie! I heard it got some good reviews! Also, Montreal really is turning 375 years old next year. It would be a good time to visit the city; that's for sure.

When I say 'The Habs', I'm referring to the Montreal Canadiens hockey team. We have various nicknames for this NHL team that I will mention in the next chapter. People in Quebec are crazy for hockey and we sure love our team! I'm so sad they didn't make the playoffs this year… they started the season off so well too!

One last thing: The Montreal Canadiens really did play against the Arizona Coyotes on the 15th of February. And they lost… pretty badly…yeah.

 **A/N:** Next chapter, we're going to 'Murica! Yeeeee! We're gonna see some more Alfred, and things will finally get more interesting.

Lots of Canadian lovin',

~SailorHikarinoMu


	6. Chapter 6: Visiting Alfred & Hockey

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia at all. Nor do I own any NHL team, Golden Corral or whatever else is mentioned in this chapter.

A/N: I apologize for the longer wait. This week really has been crappy (& very stressful) for me. I don't know about you guys, but it's Easter break here, so it's as if my teachers felt that they should put all of my tests, quizzes, in-class essays and lab reports all in this week. Either way, it's done now. So I should be able to resume my weekly updates without any disruptions from now on. As a way to make amends, how 'bout I put up two chapters this week end? :D

On a more serious note….

Although my thoughts and prayers go to every single individual who has ever been affected by the despicable and heart-wrenching acts that stem from the sheer sadistic pleasure of terrorists, this chapter is dedicated to the victims and loved ones of the terror attacks that recently occurred in Brussels, Belgium.

BRUXELLES, NOUS T'AIMONS (Brussels, we love you).

 **Canadian Refuge**

The time spent on board the aircraft had been rather uneventful, save the Canadian explaining now and then what state they were flying over. Alfred had met them there, at the terminal, before leading them towards a luxurious black SUV.

Once they settled themselves in the vehicle, the American spoke first. "So, Romano. I heard from my bro that this is going to be your first NHL experience. You excited? This game won't be as action-packed as compared to, say, Montreal versus Boston, but it's still sure to be interesting."

Romano simply scowled, not wanting to converse with the wheat-blond more than necessary.

That had been enough to trigger laughter from the American. "Dude, you should learn how to loosen up a little; we're gonna watch some hockey, not enter a war."

A thin auburn eyebrow twitched, irritated; this was going to be a long day.

The things he endured for Matthew's sake…

* * *

The feeling of warm air gracing his tanned skin after almost a week of freezing Canadian weather (at least, that was according to his standards) was more than appreciated. The Italian had to admit; the American was lucky that there were parts of his country that were hot and sunny all year round, contrary to his Northern twin.

The car, after having transported the trio from the Phoenix airport to Glendale, was now parked in the American's driveway.

"This is a house?" Romano stared in awe at the mansion.

The Southern twin chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah. But it's nothing compared to the one in L.A. or the beach house I have in Florida. I still really love it here, though." He then took out a key and opened the door. "Anyways, since the game is only in a few hours, I thought we could eat at my place for the time being. Unless you'd rather go out?"

"Nah. Let's stay here and relax for a bit. No worries; I'll cook, Alfie," the Canadian volunteered.

"You sure? Y'all just arrived from a long flight. I know the time difference is only a couple of hours, but still…. Oh! I know! How 'bout we go to an all-you-can-eat buffet! There's a Golden Corral not too far away. The food's always good there! I think they're even giving away free bags of yeast rolls for a limited time only." He stopped to take a breath before blabbering some more. "It'll take about fifteen minutes by car to get from the restaurant to the arena, so we could relax here for a while first to unwind. Does that sound like a good plan or what?" he smirked, beaming with confidence.

The Canadian smiled approvingly, and nodded; Alfred, for once, had made sense.

South Italy, seeing this, sighed but nevertheless agreed as well.

"Alright folks, how 'bout we play some video games or watch a movie until then?"

* * *

"Al… we're not watching that. We're supposed to be relaxing, remember?"

The blue-eyed nation pouted. "Why not? I can only watch these things when I've got company." He rectified his words quickly, "It's not that I'm scared or anything. It's just more fun to watch it as a group, that's all." He waved the unconvinced faces of his guests off.

"Well… if you want horror so bad, all you gotta do is wait 'till the game starts and watch as my team crushes yours." The Canadian smirked, a competitive gleam in his eyes.

"Tch, I wouldn't count on it if I were you, bro," he responded with the same amount of fierceness.

The European, who was stuck sitting between the two on the American's living room sofa, sunk back in his seat.

' _Dio_ , what did I get myself into now?'

* * *

Once they had found a table, the Southern twin practically sprinted towards the nearest food station. Seeing it was mostly salad, the nation moved off towards the fried foods section.

Once he was out of sight, the Canadian sat down next to the brunet. "I'm so sorry about him. I know he can be a handful at times, but he really is the best brother in the world."

"Don't worry about it. As long as you're around, I'm happy."

Matthew took a sharp intake of breath at that.

As quickly as he had left, the American came back and promptly sat down. "Dudes what are you still doing here? I had time to stack my plate and you guys are still sitting down. Speaking of that, you should get one of their steaks. They grill it on the spot for you." He cut into the meat. "Damn it. It's well-done; I asked for rare." He looked up from his plate and pointed at his brother's blush. "See! That's how red I wanted it." He suddenly got up from his seat. "Excuse me while I go get myself another steak…maybe telling the dude off while I'm at it," were his last words before leaving for a second time.

Romano smiled innocently. "I think I'll take _tuo fratello_ 's advice concerning the steak. You coming?"

The Northern nation laughed nervously, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Nah, go ahead. I'll just stay here and watch our table for now. Thanks."

The Italian nodded and walked away, thinking all the while of what he had just witnessed.

'Just because he got all flustered, it doesn't mean he has any feelings for me. I need to know for sure…. I have to tell him…' He then spotted the American, who was currently busy gazing in awe at the chocolate fountain.

'…Maybe I should wait until he's not around; hamburger-bastard, as stupid as he may seem, is not someone I would want as an enemy.'

* * *

Alfred, stomach satisfied and hands full with several bags of yeast rolls and freshly made cotton candy, walked at the front of the other two nations while laughing obnoxiously as per usual.

"Really Al? Did you have to take so many? It was supposed to be one bag of bread per group, you fat-ass."

"Pfft! As if you're any better whenever we go to the supermarket somewhere in Canada and you practically buy their entire stock of maple syrup. And for the record, they're called yeast rolls."

The Canadian's face turned red in embarrassment. "W-well at least maple syrup is good for you. I don't see any label saying 'multigrain' on any of those bags of yours."

The other twin promptly rolled his eyes. "Anyways, what's up with your boy toy over there. He hasn't said a word for like, the past hour. I'm surprised he's not the one bitching at me right now."

Matthew glared at him concerning the last remark, before turning towards his friend. "He's right. Are you okay? You're not usually this quiet."

The man in question seemed to come back to his senses. "Hmm? Oh, well… I was just thinking about something. Don't worry about it. So, are we going to the game now?" was the sly change of subject.

America turned his head around while still walking to study him for a moment, not quite believing the man's words, but not letting it show. "Yeah, it starts in about twenty minutes. But, we won't have to wait in line or anything if that's what you're concerned about. Me and Matthew here," he indicated the latter with his thumb, "have a VIP lounge just for us. Consider yourself lucky; we hardly ever bring guests along, let alone a fellow nation." He turned back around, while taking his car keys out to press the 'unlock' button.

The Italian let that sink in for a moment. Did this mean that the North American brothers perceived him as special? More so than the others? He hoped these assumptions were correct.

* * *

By the time they arrived to their private room, the arena was packed with hockey fans: most sporting the home jersey, a few here and there in red, blue and white while flashing a large 'C' on their chests.

Matthew had a good feeling about this game. His team was currently in the middle of a losing streak, yet it did nothing to dampen his faith.

"Watch and learn cowboy. _Le Tricolore vont vous battre à plein fouet._ _J'te l'jure, frérot_." Here began the Canadian's French outburst, fire burning in those normally kind amethyst eyes.

Romano resigned himself to sitting as far away from the North Americans as possible. He preferred not being within their spoken range of fire.

"Oh Mattie, Mattie, Mattie." The older blond sniggered. "When will you ever learn that my teams are better than yours."

"That's only because Canadians make up most of your teams, _espèce d'enfoiré._ _De toute façon, des trente équipes de la LNH, seulement sept d'entre eux sont canadiennes. Crisse, c'est une injustice ! En tout cas, viens pas m'dire que tes joueurs sont meilleurs qu'les miens, parce que les Jeux Olympiques suggèrent le contraire, en passant_."

"Dude… I know Montreal is a French city and all, but can you speak some English? I have no idea what the hell you're saying. How do you want me to retort to that if I don't understand shit all? Honestly Matt… you're so weird sometimes."

Matthew grumbled under his breath; he'd save his real insults for the game. It was starting soon anyways.

* * *

"And there goes goal number one! Alright boys, keep 'em comin'. Give daddy America some more so I can shove it down Matt's throat that my teams are better." He cackled maniacally.

Canada was fuming at this point, and it was only the first period. " _HEILLE! RÉVEILLEZ-VOUS LES GARS! OUVREZ LES_ _YEUX, TABARNAK_!" He then turned to Alfred, roughly poking the American in the chest. "It's not over yet. Just you wait Alfred. I'm not losing to you. Not again."

"We'll see about that lil' bro." He rubbed the aching area.

"Don't call me 'bro'. This is war."

"Aw Mattie… don't be like that. You love me too much to ever mean it~" His voice dripped with poisoned sweetness. He then attempted to wrap him in a none too gentle hug.

" _Ta gueule! Laisse-moi tranquille frère maudit_."

Romano sighed from where he was sitting, which was as far away from the quarreling blonds as the spacious room could provide. He had given up since the end of the singing of the national anthems. His thoughts settling on that for a moment, he had to admit; both the American and Canadian anthems were charming to the ears. The sound of someone falling off their seat pulled him out of his reflections.

"OUCH! Matt, what the actual fuck? You didn't have to shove me so hard. I hate it when you use your hockey strength on me. How 'bout a head's up next time." The American rubbed his sore bottom.

The other blond scoffed. "I told you to leave me alone. Don't you know by now that you d- YES!" He suddenly jumped up in the air. "Way to go Weise! Now, we're tied 1-1. Suck on that Al!" He aggressively pointed at the sulking American in question.

Lovino sighed once more, the mild annoyance that had been present on his facial features fading into a solemn glower. This was going to be the longest sporting event he had ever attended, it seemed.

* * *

The game ended with a score of 6-2 in the American's favor.

Matthew, being the good sport that he was, congratulated his brother with, nevertheless, a hint of competitiveness.

"By the way, are you guys coming to the game on the 17th? It's your French team again but versus the Colorado Avalanche... and I think it's in Montreal this time."

The Canadian, still in hockey mode, whirled around. "Okay Alfred. Let this be the last time I say it: people in Quebec are not necessarily 'French'. They're French-speaking. Learn the difference, _imbécile_." He then locked eyes with the Italian, while still conversing with America. "I think it's time we head back to Canada. I'm planning on taking Romano skiing on the 17th. So, I don't know if we'll be too tired to go, but come over anyways. We could always crash at my house and watch the game on my flat screen."

The American tapped his chin with his forefinger in thought, before his eyes lit up. "How about I just take the plane ride with you guys back to Montreal? That way, it's less of a hassle for me. Then after the game, I could go visit my 5th Avenue penthouse in New York City or something. I haven't been there in a while surprisingly, and it's only six hours away by car. You still have the motorbike I left in your garage from last year's Christmas special marathon, right?"

Romano's interest was piqued at the last remark. Just how often did these two see each other? They seemed to be especially close compared to how they acted during meetings.

Canada, sensing his friend's confusion, informed him. "Al and I always spend Christmas together. It's become a tradition. The only times we don't is when something is keeping us apart, like with what happened during both World Wars. But even at that, we made up for those times by celebrating other things together."

America continued where his brother left off. "Yeah. I know we don't show it much, but we're almost always together. We figured that we were better off not letting other nations know that, in case they wanted to use it against us. So many of them dislike me that it's a possibility that they would use Mattie against me to get what they want. You could never be too careful around the others."

"Then why are you telling me this?" asked the Italian, his brows knitting from a lack of comprehension.

Alfred grinned, a mischievous gleam in his baby blues. "Because I know you won't utter a word of what I just said to anyone else."

The Italian's eyes thinned into slits, now suspicious. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"

The American suddenly became uncharacteristically serious, his tone confident. "I know for a fact that you would never cause any form of pain upon my brother. Furthermore, hurting me would mean hurting Mattie as well, so you would never target me either."

The European's sole reaction was the tanned color of his skin turning to a berry cherry red. He was at a rare loss for words. After all, what could he even respond to that? The American had just hit the nail on the head.

"I thought as much," continued the superpower, a hint of satisfaction lacing his voice.

Matthew, not catching the hidden meaning behind the seemingly innocent exchange, simply smiled. "I'm so glad both of you are playing nice with each other. Concerning your earlier proposition Al, I think it's a great idea. It'll conserve so much fuel to have you travel along with us."

Said person reverted back to his usual rambunctious self. "Sure thing bro! It'll be awesome! Oh, you know what we should do tomorrow?" He then answered his own question without waiting for an answer, "We should show Romano the Botanical Gardens and that place with all the creepy crawlers…. What's its name… the Insectarium! There you go! I never forget things for long."

'Except for me,' the Northern twin immediately thought, before agreeing out loud. "That's such a good idea! I guess it had slipped my mind." He turned to the Italian. "The Insectarium, the Planetarium, the Biodome and the Botanical Gardens are all places near the Olympic village. Together, they make up ' _Espace pour la vie, Montréal_ ', which in English is called 'Space for Life, Montreal'. Right now at the Gardens, they have this exposition on butterflies called 'Papillons en liberté', the English version of its name being 'Butterflies Go Free'." He thought for a moment. "Wait, this exhibit only opens on February 18th. I'm afraid we can't go." His bottom lip protruded in a pout.

Alfred, in a hero stance, made sure no one was around before announcing loudly, "Not to worry Mattie! We're nations, so we could obviously get special treatment! VIPs for as long as we live, bro!" He then flashed his pearly whites, almost blinding Romano in the process.

The Canadian was clearly not on the same page. "Alfred, unlike you, I don't use my status to do or get whatever I want."

The United States snorted. "God, you're such a killjoy, I swear. Obviously, you've just gotta be a model citizen. Have you ever thought of having some fun once in a while, or is there a permanent stick up your ass?" He hoped that would anger his brother enough into submitting.

Matthew crossed his arms and sighed; he knew his brother's tactics like the back of his hand. "If you're trying to get me mad Al, I'll have you know that it's not working. However, you're right. I should take advantage of my nation status for once." He shook his head while smiling, practically feeling the excitement radiating off of his twin. His next words, "I'll make it happen. You can count on that," had the American fist-pumping in the air, and the Canadian laughing at his brother's antics as a result.

Romano made no comment and resolved himself to his fate; once more, he would be dragged around the city by the Canadian, with the addition of the American this time around.

Either way, he was sure he would enjoy himself; who could ever dislike butterflies?

* * *

After spending the night at the American's luxurious home, the flight back the next morning occurred, for the most part, in a similar way to the previous one, yet this time with an obnoxious third party on board.

Matthew was in the aircraft bathroom when Romano approached the American, smoothly sitting by his side. He stared at Alfred – who was currently playing a videogame on one of the many gadgets he owned – for a moment, while taking the time to choose his words carefully. He had no intention of ticking off the other nation.

Feeling eyes on him, the blond took his headphones off and waited for the Italian to speak first.

The darker nation took a calming intake of breath. "I've had this on my mind for a while now…. Remember when you woke me up the other day at Matthew's house, when it was 10 in the morning?" At a nod from the flaxen, he continued. "Before you told me about how much your twin appreciated my cooking, you mentioned that the reason why you were there was to bring back his car and to get your…"

"My chopper. It's an other word for helicopter."

"Yeah, that. You wanted to get it back." He paused for a moment. "My question is: why did you have his car in the first place? I mean, from what I know, Matthew only has one car." He looked away. "He told me he had gone to see his boss that day. He didn't mention you at all."

America leaned forward, as if to tell a secret. "He lied."

South Italy, not liking where this was going, hid the betrayal he was now feeling, and asked, "What do you mean by that?"

The American nation sighed, closing his eyes for a moment while leaning back in his seat. He checked to make sure that Matthew was still in the restroom before answering. "He was at my house. And not for the reason you think," he was quick to reassure him. "Mattie came by because he thought you were distancing yourself from him, that you were trying to gently let him go before leaving him."

"What? I wa-"

"I know that's not what you were trying to do," the American interrupted. "I know. He doesn't, though." He threaded his hand through his golden locks. "He is completely oblivious to anything concerning matters of the heart, but I see the way you look at him. You've been in love with him for so long, and he still has no clue." He then abruptly covered the Italian's mouth, effectively silencing him. "Yes, I know that too. I mean honestly, did you really think that I wouldn't have noticed? Mattie is basically everything to me. He's the only one I trust, the only one that I am certain won't ever turn his back on me. People may see America as this great nation, a land where people can prosper and make better lives for themselves and their families…. 'The American Dream', you know? Yet, a lot of people hate me. And in this crazy world we live in, the only one I can truly depend on even when things turn to shit is him. So, of course, it's only normal that I pay close attention to the people around him." He glanced towards the washroom once more, while bringing his hand back. "Anyways, he's way more than just a brother to me. I'll admit that he slips my mind now and then, but he knows that I'm doing everything I can to put a stop to that. He understands how hard it is to be me, how everyone always accuses me of every fuckup that happens in this world." He ground his teeth together at that, before snapping out of his thoughts to get to his point. "Regardless, I want him to be happy. He needs someone that'll see him for him, not someone that'll mistake him for me, or use him just to get to me. A nation that's completely devoted to him, other than myself. I mean, he's aware of how important he is to me. Therefore…" he drawled. "From what I've seen so far, and from what he's told me over the years, you fit that profile the best. He trusts you, and I think he may even love you. Thing is, he'll never realize it if you don't make the first move." He sighed again. "This is all because he's used to people not even sparing him a second glance… or a single glance for that matter. He firmly believes that no one could ever genuinely love him due to all of the neglect he's suffered throughout his lifetime." He bit his lip to keep them from trembling, regret clearly visible in his eyes before he looked to the side. "I've been so busy trying to become great and do some good for the world, that I, myself, hurt him on a few occasions. Naturally, he always forgives me, but I can't forgive myself. Do you know what it's like to have your brother coming to you crying because other nations have picked on him from mistaking him for you? Or to have your own twin live in your shadow because you're the world's superpower, because nations listen to you the most? Because of me, my brother has been hurt so many times. The worst in all of this is that he never blames me for anything. Sure, he'll tell me off in the heat of the moment whenever he's pissed off, but once he calms down, he never actually says it's my fault."

Baby blue then clashed with hazel, the American as serious as the brunet had ever seen him. "That's why I'm going to help you in every way I can. You've never hurt him the way I have. So, I think you could really change the way he sees the world, make him see how wrong he is whenever he's in a slump thinking he's doomed to an immortal life of neglect and abandon."

He then took the revolver he had thus far concealed under his bomber jacket, stroking it casually. "I'm confident that you could be that special person, the one that could alter his life for the better. However, if you end by giving up on him like all of those other scum for nations have, I can assure you that you'll wish you could be mortal from the number of times I'll kill you. I mean, there are just so many ways one could die, don't you think? I wouldn't mind testing them all out…"

Romano made sure not to let any of the fear he was currently feeling show through his eyes, and scoffed while crossing his arms. "I'd never hurt him, remember? You said that yourself before." He mumbled the rest, "Besides, I'd let you commit the worst atrocities to my person if ever I so much as make him cry."

The American whistled, surprised, before adding, "Damn… you're in it deep, dude."

The tanned nation huffed and promptly went back to his previous seat just as, coincidentally, the Canadian opened the door to the washroom with a 'click'.

The older blond spoke first. "What the hell, bro? What took you so long? You were in there for like, forever."

The Canadian rubbed his neck sheepishly. "My fly wouldn't close. It got stuck in the fabric…" Thoroughly embarrassed, he made his way towards his seat.

The rest of the flight went by without further incident.

End of Chapter Six – Fin du Chapitre Six

Translations:

 _Le Tricolore vont vous battre à plein fouet._ _J'te l'jure, frérot_." – 'The Tricolor will beat you head-on. I swear to you, bro'. The French expression ' _battre à plein fouet_ ' means 'to beat head-on' in this context, but word for word, it literally translates to 'to beat full-on by whip'. God, all of the French in this chapter is such Quebec slang. I got such a kick from writing this stuff, haha.

 _(…), espèce d'enfoiré. De toute façon, des trente équipes de la LNH, seulement sept d'entre eux sont canadiennes. Crisse, c'est une injustice ! En tout cas, viens pas m'dire que tes joueurs sont meilleurs qu'les miens, parce que les Jeux Olympiques suggèrent le contraire, en passant._ – '(…), you jerk/bastard. Either way, from the thirty NHL teams, only seven of them are Canadian. Damn, that's an injustice! In any case, don't come to me saying your players are better than mine, because the Olympic Games suggest the opposite, by the way'. LOL more Quebec French… if my readers from France are reading this, you guys must think this sounds so bad XD. But it's the way we talk here!

 _HEILLE! RÉVEILLEZ-VOUS LES GARS!_ _OUVREZ LES_ _YEUX, TABARNAK!_ – 'HEY! WAKE UP BOYS/GUYS! OPEN YOUR EYES, DAMMIT!' ...Yeah, I had way too much fun with this. By the way, Quebec swear words are complete blasphemy (even though I put the word 'dammit', you can't even translate these swear words into English, since they're distinctly _Québécois_ ). And I know for a fact that we have a pretty bad reputation concerning this. Hell, I once met this Mexican dude (he was an exchange student) and he told me that people in his town call Quebecers the 'Tabarnacos', because we're known to them for saying the word 'tabarnak/tabarnacle' a lot… *sweatdrops* I hope not all Mexicans call us that, even though it is kinda funny…

 _Ta gueule!_ _Laisse-moi tranquille frère maudit_ – 'Shut up! Leave me alone damned brother'.

 _imbécile_ – 'imbecile/moron'.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

Golden Corral, the buffet I mentioned, is like the best place ever. Whenever I go to Florida, I make it a point to go there only once. The sheer amount of desserts (they have good food too, but… I'm a huge chocoholic) they have is awesome! They literally have a chocolate fountain where you can dip either strawberries, marshmallows, rice crispy squares or pineapples on a stick (Or at least, the one I go to has those options). And they even make fresh cotton candy on the spot for you (that's why Alfred was carrying a couple of bags of that)! It's true; they did give away bags of yeast rolls last year, but not this year. Still, I felt like I had to mention that in the story for some odd reason…. I guess to give it this more 'American' feel. I dunno. Either way, I hope some of you smiled in recognition.

The Montreal Canadiens' jersey is red, blue and white (which is why we call them the ' _Tricolore_ '), and has a large 'C' at the front representing the team logo.

The Montreal Canadiens really did play against the Colorado Avalanche on the 17th of February. But it was played in Colorado, not Montreal like I say in the story. It's just, for the sake of the plot, I have to have the three come back to Canada.

One last thing: I know I make it seem that way, but Alfred isn't in love with Canada … at least not in this story hehe. He's just a protective and over-affectionate brother, that's all.

 **A/N:** To all of the Belgians, French, Americans, and others who have been affected by terrorism, I hope you can all feel the moral support I'm sending your way (if that even makes sense to any of you). I tried to make these upcoming chapters, in particular, especially beautiful. What I mean by that is… I tried to put as many of the beauties of life, the positive things worth fighting for, in this work. Because to me, this is more than just a little fiction project; it's a way for me to transmit my thoughts and hopes. It's, in a way, my view of Canada and of the culture here, of course, but it's also a written version of how I see the world we live in. From the events that occurred in Belgium this week, I've heard people voice how scared they are that something like that could happen here in Canada. Of course it could happen here; it'd be foolish to think otherwise (it's not as if it's never occurred here; it's just, so far, always been on a smaller scale, than say, Paris). The undeniable truth is; it could strike anywhere. Yet, when I compare terrorism, which is caused by a small percentage of hateful individuals (I don't think they can even be considered human from how senseless their actions are), to the beautiful elements that make up our daily lives, I don't feel as worried. Why let them accomplish their goal of spreading terror around the world when we are so much more than that, so much better and stronger than they could ever even wish to be? These extremists are ignorant to anything other than violence and hatred. They simply take innocent lives as they see fit and think nothing of the consequences. That is their mistake; they don't see how our love for one in other, solidarity, will to fight, and determination in overcoming this is getting stronger and stronger with each victim they make, whether it be in Turkey, Syria, Cameroon, Lebanon or the U.S.

I have so so so much more to say, but let that be my message of the day.

As a last note, I read the daily newspaper literally every day, and this poem was in this Friday's paper. It speaks to me so much and reminds me particularly of New York that I felt I just had to include it here. Obviously, it's in French, but I took the liberty of translating it in English for you guys. It's not the most heartfelt or 'deep' poetic work I've ever read, but it served its purpose.

Although I was but a small child at the time, 9/11 hit home pretty hard, and still does whenever it becomes the subject of conversation. I guess whenever something happens in America, we Canadians feel and mourn along too, and vice versa (we do the same thing for other countries too, but the States is just a different story) …

 **Pour Bruxelles (For Brussels)**

Dans la Bruxelles matinale (On a Brussels morning)

c'était une journée banale (it was an ordinary day)

T'étais rêveur, pas soldat (You were a dreamer, not a soldier)

T'allais au boulot, pas au combat (You were heading off to work, not to combat/battle)

T'avais sûrement dit à ta femme « Je rentre pas tard, à ce soir » (You had probably told your wife "I won't come home late, see you tonight")

T'aurais pu traîner un peu (You could have wandered around for a bit)

Perdre une minute sous le ciel bleu (To lose a minute under the blue sky)

C'est le hasard, le destin (It is at random, destiny)

Ta vie s'arrête ce matin (Your life ends this morning)

Mais le plus terrible, vraiment (But the worst, really)

C'est pour ceux qui vont vivre sans (is for those who will live without)

un papa, une maman, (a daddy, a mommy)

un frangin qu'ils aimaient tant (a brother/bro they loved so dearly)

Ce mépris de la vie humaine (This disregard/disdain for human life)

n'est écrit sur aucune page (is not written on any page)

C'est de la violence et de la haine (This is violence and hatred)

à l'évidence, pas du courage (clearly, not courage)

Les hommes naissent libres et égaux (Men are born free and equal)

Certains naissent cons (Some are born stupid/mindless)

C'est pas nouveau (That's not new)

Alors non, ça ne sert pas à rien (So no, it is not for nothing)

De faire des dessins, des refrains (to draw pictures, to create choruses/refrains),

d'illuminer la tour Eiffel (to illuminate/light up the Eiffel Tower)

aux couleurs du drapeau belge (with the colors of the Belgian flag),

de boire des cafés, comme avant (to drink coffees, like before),

dans les rues du Bataclan (in the streets of the Bataclan),

d'allumer briquets et bougies (to light up lighters and candles)

en souvenir d'Hervé Gourdel (in memory of Hervé Gourdel),

de brandir « Je suis Charlie » (to flourish/brandish "I am Charlie"),

« Je suis Tunis » ("I am Tunis"),

« Je suis Bruxelles » ("I am Brussels")

Ne pas avoir peur, (To not be scared)

ce serait fou (would be crazy)

Mais à trop trembler, (But by trembling too much)

on vit à genoux (we end up by living on our knees)

Et c'est quand elle (And it is when she (In this case, I think 'she' replaces ' _ville_ ', which means city. The word ' _ville_ ' is feminine, so it'd sorta make sense))

est attaquée (is attacked)

qu'on se rappelle (that we remember)

la chance que c'est (how lucky we are)

de respirer la liberté (to breathe in freedom),

de marcher libre dans les allées (to walk freely down the alleys)

Avec l'image dans le cœur à jamais (With the image forever in our hearts)

L'image de ceux qui sont tombés (The image of those who have fallen)

Qu'étaient rêveurs (Those who were dreamers),

pas soldats (not soldiers)

Qu'allaient au boulot (Those who were heading off to work),

pas au combat (not to combat/battle)

 _-François Crimon, 26 ans (26 years old), Paris_

Dreaming of a world devoid of senseless bloodshed,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	7. Chapter 7: Space for Life, Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia at all. Nor do I own ' _Espace pour la vie Montréal_ ' or whatever else is mentioned in this chapter. Why am I even writing a disclaimer? I'm at chapter 7 for crying out loud! Guess it's my Canadian courtesy…

A/N: Instead of posting 2 chapters like I said I would, I just made this one a hell of a lot longer. There's no way I was going to divide this into 2 parts (I wanted everything to be together). This is the longest chap so far, so here you go.

Enjoy reading, loves! -xox-

 **Canadian Refuge**

It was now a quarter to noon. They had landed at Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport faster than expected. From there, the trio had immediately headed towards the Canadian's Montreal home.

With Alfred's suitcase now put away in Canada's second guest room, the three nations wordlessly made their way to Matthew's car.

Throughout the drive, Romano took the opportunity to think about the plane ride from earlier on in the day. Alfred was a lot kinder than what he had heard through rumors and gossip exchanged amongst the other nations. He had been pleasantly surprised when the American had offered his aid in conquering Matthew's heart. It was just, he had always had this – admittedly, unfounded – notion that the Southern twin had an unhealthy case of possessiveness, and was a warmongering snoop that stuck his nose in everyone's business. Yet, now, he had a newfound respect for the sunny-blond. Lovino had long ago come to terms with the fact that the nations of the New World had a different mentality than those of the Old Continent.

However, Alfred, in particular, was often falsely and unfairly criticized. Everyone had regarded him as an ungrateful brat once the news of America seeking his independence from Arthur had reached the ears of Europe, back in the late 1700s. Now that the Italian had been given the opportunity to assess his own thoughts about said 'brat', he had understood that they had all judged him too fast; Alfred simply embraced other values, had a different mindset from most of the older nations. With these thoughts, Romano vowed to defend the American whenever he heard the others' whispers of how fat, or loud, or annoying Alfred was, amongst other opinions. Undoubtedly, some were true, but that was no reason to voice any of these cruel remarks out loud.

Ultimately, the brunet had to admit; he had misjudged Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America.

Out of the blue, a finger probed one of the South Italian's nostrils, causing the latter to sneeze.

"What the fuck hamburger-bastard? Haven't you ever been told that it's rude to put your finger up someone's nose?" He scrunched up his face to get rid of the lingering tickly sensation.

The American simply burst with laughter from his seat next to his brother at the front of the car. "Dude, you were just so stone-faced that I couldn't just sit here and do nothing. Either way, it looked like you were really deep in thought, which honestly kinda freaked me out."

From the driver's seat, Matthew could be seen unsuccessfully hiding an amused smirk behind his hand.

Scratch some of what the Mediterranean had previously promised; if anyone spoke about how immature Alfred was, Lovino would gladly engage in the conversation and possibly encourage it.

* * *

"Alright, I had to pull a few strings, but here we are," the Canadian announced while parking. "We'll be visiting the Insectarium first-" he put a hand up, immediately silencing any of Alfred's protests, "- and then we'll go to the Botanical Gardens to see the butterflies. It's always fun to keep the best for last, anyways. Besides, the workers here are still making a few adjustments in order to properly welcome us. It's not as if they had long to prepare for our arrival, due to a certain someone's eagerness." He pointedly fixed his gaze at his twin.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's not as if three very important people such as ourselves come here every day. They should be honored, if anything."

The Canadian simply rolled his eyes; there was no use arguing with the other blond. "Anyways, we have the entire place to ourselves for today."

"Yay Mattie! Way to go! You're the best, lil' bro." He proceeded to force his unsuspecting sibling into a bear hug, to then promptly ignore the Canadian's protests to instead give him an affectionate noogie.

Romano smirked, amused and slightly envious. He secretly wished he and Feliciano could get along as well as the North Americans.

* * *

As they stepped through the door, they were immediately greeted by a host.

"Canadians… always so welcoming and polite, except on the ice."

"Shut up," Matthew hissed as he elbowed his brother in the ribs, walking all the while.

"Fuck Matt, you're such a meanie." He stuck his tongue out childishly, rubbing the aching area.

Canada merely rolled his eyes, while taking Lovino's hand in his and tugging him along, to the latter's utmost delight.

"Anyways, this is the Insectarium," the caramel-blond said once they arrived to their destination. "There are a bunch of different displays and exhibits here on the subject of insects." His amethyst eyes darted around the room for a moment, inspecting the area. Pleased with what he saw, he resumed. "They sorta changed things up around here over the years…. Either way, the Montreal Insectarium inhabits a number of treasures just demanding to be discovered. You'll find dazzling, gem-like beetles, hairy tarantulas, butterflies with wings of all different colors and sizes, giant stick insects …. All these different species are laid out in display cases, vivariums and exhibition modules so that everyone can learn more about insects and arthropods. It's a place where anyone, from first-time visitors to keen entomologists alike, can celebrate bugs from all over the globe."

Lovino, still shocked from the sudden hand in his own, barely heard the explanation over the frenzied thumping in his chest. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Alfred give him a thumbs up, a shit-eating grin all the while plastered on his face.

"How 'bout we start checking things out? Over there," the Canadian pointed to two large glass cubes open at the top where a bridge resembling a tree root connected them, "is the leafcutter ant farm. They're otherwise known as _Atta_ ants. This, along with the 'We Are the Insects' exhibit, make up the two permanent exhibitions here. Everything else is temporary."

"Yeah I remember these guys! They act like little soldiers." The American then pulled the Italian, who had been watching Matthew's lips intently till then, out of the Canadian's grasp to bring him towards said formicarium. "They're so cool! You just gotta see them Lovino," he continued his incessant chatter as if nothing.

A blink. Two. And Canada followed after them, the sudden loss of warmth in his hand acting as a trigger.

Since when had Romano and his brother become such good friends? The Northern nation was glad; his twin was finally getting along with someone other than himself. He was aware of the fact that so many nations hated the American. Thus, Matthew made it his personal duty to always be there for him, through thick and thin.

Even if Alfred ended up by unconsciously stealing one of the few friends Canada himself had, he was content. The knowledge that he had helped make that happen was what made it even better.

…At least, that was what the Canadian forced himself to think. He was having difficulty supressing the bitterness slowly plaguing his mood.

* * *

Romano was staring intently at the glass tank, trying to find whatever creature was supposed to be in it.

"The centipede is right behind that rock, there in the left corner," came Matthew's voice from behind.

The South Italian whirled around. "Oh yeah? _Grazie_." He turned back towards the vivarium and, sure enough, the arthropod was there, its head – or was it its tail? – slightly peeking out. "Alright. I've seen everything here. Is it okay if we visit the next place?"

The Canadian smiled. "Of course. We're gonna head on over to the Gardens once Al comes back from the washroom."

Lovino scrunched up his face in confusion. "The what?"

"What?"

"That place you just said…. What does it mean?"

"Oh, you mean 'washroom'? It means the toilet, or the bathroom if you prefer. Alfred calls it the restroom."

As if on cue, said American popped up from behind the Canadian, effectively startling the latter.

"What was that you were saying? I heard my name."

Canada, his hand clutched to his chest in a death grip, quickly regained his composure. "It was nothing Alfie. Nothing at all. We'll be going to the Botanical Gardens next and we were just waiting for you."

"Alright!" came the enthusiastic response. "Then let's get going dudes!" He winked at his twin, "I read somewhere that right now, they're serving that fantastic maple thing on a stick you made me try a couple of years ago. Think I can beat my record from last time, bro?"

Both the Italian and the Canadian snickered at that; they were absolutely sure Alfred could do it.

It went without saying that the American's appetite had but grown over the years.

* * *

After stuffing their faces to the brim with the sugary treat, the trio stayed outside for a while longer for some bird watching.

With a pair of borrowed binoculars, the Canadian, while occasionally referring to his brother for some assistance since the North Americans had many species in common, pointed towards any bird he would see. He took the time to name and explain each one for the Italian, while answering any questions the latter had.

For the first time in his life, the Mediterranean nation saw blue jays, northern cardinals, and northern parulas, amongst many others.

Spotting a smaller passerine bird fly by to then perch itself on the lower branch of a nearby tree, South Italy tapped the Canadian's shoulder. "What's that one?"

Matthew, using his binoculars, suddenly gasped at what he saw. "Oh my gosh, Lovi… what good eyes you have! That's a boreal chickadee! This specie in particular has a range that's pretty much restricted to the boreal forest of Canada. Even in the winter, I, myself, have rarely seen them in the Southern part of my country. So, the fact that we're able to actually see one in a place like Montreal is absolutely amazing. Did I mention that they're also extremely hard to film? They have this reputation of being quite elusive." He chuckled.

"Hey, look! It's flying our way," the American whispered excitedly, trying not to jump up and down. He had been scared from the beginning of frightening the birds with his notoriously loud voice, and had therefore resorted to carefully keeping his words as low as possible in volume.

The creature landed on Matthew's shoulder, chirping as if to get his attention.

Canada gently rubbed the little bird's brown head with his forefinger to then lightly scratch at its black throat, cooing at how cute it was. From his perspective, it looked like a puffball of feathers.

The chickadee simply stared back, its dark beady eyes seemingly studying him.

"Do you guys think animals could tell that we're not like ordinary humans?" Alfred quietly asked, still mindful of his voice.

The other two nations slowly turned his way, contemplating the blond's words.

"Do you mean to say that… you believe animals know we represent countries?" Romano looked back at the bird, which had kept on staring up at the man it was perched on.

"Well look at the little guy. It's as if he knows he's looking straight at the personification of his country… at Canada in the flesh."

Matthew decided to comment at that. "You know Al… maybe you're right. I mean, animals do have keener senses than we do. It would certainly explain why it doesn't look scared of me, or of any of us for that matter…" The Canadian proceeded to tenderly stroke its short grey wings. It was true that he had always felt a special connection to the various natural habitats that, to a certain extent, made up his very being.

* * *

The caramel-blond, after having had to coax the stubborn bird off his shoulder, made his way back inside, along with his companions, to head towards the various greenhouses.

"So… where to next, bro?"

The Canadian rolled his eyes, amused by his brother's way of shortening things. "You know, Arthur would probably have your head if he heard you talk like that."

The American let out a long, annoyed sigh, ignoring the stifled laughter he could hear coming from the European at his side. "Who cares about what bushy brows would do? Answer my question."

The other blond relented, satisfied that he had made Lovino laugh. "We're heading towards one of the various greenhouse they have here called 'The Garden of Weedlessness'. It offers a stunning view of an Oriental-styled garden with its array of penjings and bonsais."

The South Italian snorted at that. "I bet neither China, nor Japan visited this place even though it represents their culture. Am I right?"

Canada sighed, feeling ashamed for a moment, before answering, "Are you kidding? They don't even know I exist. However, Hong Kong came to visit last year. He's the one who taught me that the words 'penjing' and 'bonsai' basically mean the same thing, but are Chinese and Japanese terms respectively. Regardless, it doesn't really matter whether Yao or Kiku come or not; it's one of Hong's citizens that provided this place with most of the miniature trees that are here. In other words, he's the one that had more of a reason to come. Besides, we're good friends too, so it was fun. He's usually quite stoic, but when I brought him here, I saw him crack a smile for the first time. I guess he was proud of how the workers here treat his native plants with a lot of care, not to mention how they arranged the garden to make it look as authentic as possible."

The Italian kept a neutral façade besides the slight twitch of an eye in irritation. So that Asian kid had visited this place before him, huh? He disliked the fact, yet resigned himself from voicing these complaints out loud.

Soon, they passed over a small bridge. "That reminds me," Matthew said while snapping his fingers. "Hong also told me that in Chinese tradition, a bridge is a standard feature in gardens since it is believed to keep evil spirits from crossing it."

The American whirled around at that. "Wait, did you just say that they ward off ghosts? Interesting…" He knew what he would be spending his money on for the next few weeks.

The Canadian rolled his eyes; his brother was so predictable.

The three men wandered around the room for a while longer, reading the descriptions of species that stood out while enjoying the serene atmosphere the Oriental-inspired garden created.

* * *

Leaving the garden, they then made their way towards a different greenhouse, one that was hotter and more exotic-looking.

"Phew, is it me or is this place disgustingly humid? God, it's so stuffy in here." The American unzipped his jacket to take it off, then attempted to fan himself with his free hand.

"That's normal, Al. We're now in the Tropical Food Plants Greenhouse. There are a bunch of different fruits, vegetables and spices that are grown here. This section of the Botanical Gardens, in particular, receives a lot of attention, since so many people love coffee, vanilla, avocados, bananas and whatnot. I mean, it's not as if you could really grow mangoes or coconuts here in Canada." He chuckled good-naturedly. "So yeah, feel free to walk around and look at all the fruit and other foods in their different stages of growth."

The other two did just that, albeit with less enthusiasm then in the previous greenhouse. Their respective countries had rather hot climates as it was, so foods such as oranges were nothing new to them. Yet, it could never be considered a waste of time.

Finding something that caught his attention, the American waved his twin and the Italian over to where he was. "Hey check it! It's a pineapple! Look how cool it looks. It just sprouts out of the soil like some sort of gigantic flower."

The other two wore matching grins; only Alfred could come up with such explanations.

"You know, one of the points of this exhibit is to teach visitors how various plant parts, such as stems, leaves, rhizomes, and so on, can be used to feed humankind. It also encourages people to reflect on the importance of tropical plants in our society, and within the plant world. Canadians have most of the foods that are found here in their households, so it's only fair that they should know how these things are grown, right?" The Canadian winked at his two companions. "Anyways, next is the Tropical Rainforest Greenhouse. That one in particular gives people here a chance to see all types of tropical plants that can't be grown domestically. It also raises awareness concerning how vast expanses of these forests are being destroyed every year. That reminds me, wasn't Brazil talking about how the Amazon is severely affected by deforestation at the last world conference? It's such a shame. All of South America is so beautiful…" he trailed off while walking away.

The other two followed suit, making no comment. Environmental problems and climate change were pressing issues often covered in meetings, anyways. They mutually preferred not thinking about it for now; they were in Canada to enjoy themselves and learn more about the city they were in, after all. Yet, they both agreed with the Canadian; the loss of such natural beauty was, indeed, tragic.

Why did so many humans seem to have a need for destruction and exploiting resources in such excessive ways?

* * *

After visiting the last of the numerous greenhouses, the time to see the butterfly exhibit had finally come.

Alfred was already bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he were a child.

Romano, on the other hand, was wondering what the big deal was. Why was America so excited? " _Stati Uniti_ , what the hell is up with you? Did ants crawl up your pants? Now you're just being annoying." Well, that was one way of asking, he guessed.

Slowly, the American turned towards his interlocutor. That was when Romano saw it: the hint of mischief in those baby blues. Alfred was definitely planning something. What exactly, the Italian had no clue.

Against his better judgement, the European let it slide. Alfred had, after all, promised he would help him concerning Matthew. Either way, he had no choice; America was by far the closest individual to the Canadian.

Said indigo-eyed nation, after having spoken with one of the Gardens' employees, made his way back to his guests. "Sorry for the wait guys. We could go in. But before we do, I've got some fruity perfume and colorful accessories you guys might want to put on."

At the quizzical, yet horrified, look Romano gave them, both Americans erupted in laughter.

"Oh Romano, you should have seen your face. It was priceless." America wiped a tear from his eye, a smile still present on his face.

"I'll explain. It's said that butterflies are attracted by bright colours and fruity scents, since their diet mainly consists of fruit and the nectar produced by flowers. So, if you look and smell like a flower, it's more likely that they'll come near you." The Canadian then spritzed some coconut body spray on his neck and wrists. "You don't have to put anything on if you don't want to, Lovi. But you sure won't regret it if you do," he continued to speak while loosely wrapping a lemon yellow scarf around his neck.

"Oh. Well, in that case… I don't mind. Can you pass me the red fedora, _per favore_?"

America snickered, trying in vain to put on his own accessories.

The Italian's voice lowered dangerously. "What's so funny?"

The blond in question took a moment to suppress his laughter. "Nothing. It's just, you chose the fedora. How fucking typical!" He burst in another fit of – manly – giggles.

The brunet looked him up and down for a moment, before finally rebutting, "Have you seen yourself? You took a blue bandana as if you think you're still some sort of outlaw from the Wild West."

The American straightened himself up. "Touché. What can I say? Old habits die hard." He then took off his leather bomber jacket to replace it with a violet long-sleeved vest he had also grabbed.

The Canadian, who had been smiling at the exchange between the two nations, then saw a flash of metal from one of the brown jacket's inner pockets, and frowned. "Really Al? Do you always have to bring a gun with you wherever you go? You're in my country for crying out loud."

The sunny-blond in question rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Sorry bro, but you could never be too sure. Even if it is your peace-loving country, I'd rather always be prepared."

"Fine. Just try to be more discreet from now on, 'kay?" He tilted his head. He hated how his brother always felt like he was never safe no matter where he went.

"Thanks Mattie, I appreciate it." And he meant it. "Anyways, how 'bout we see those purdy critters now? Let's go." Not waiting for a response, he made his way through the special entrance made up of vertical plastic strips to keep the butterflies from flying out.

Canada shook his head for a moment, chuckling at his twin's southern twang; Arthur would have constant heart attacks if he were around Alfred as often as the Canadian was. He then turned towards the brunet at his side, who was still adjusting his hat, "Say Lovi… are you enjoying yourself?"

Said Italian took a moment to answer; he understood that Matthew was an exceedingly polite person, but it felt as if there were a double meaning to the simple question. "Of course I am. It's not hard to have fun in your presence."

The blond hesitated for a moment, debating whether he should voice the thoughts that had been running around his mind as of late.

'Don't you mean that it's more fun because Alfred's here?' he wanted to ask, yet remained silent. Romano had already said that he cared about him, and that was enough… or at least, that was what he wanted to think.

The United States suddenly popped his head out of the clear PVC curtains. "Dudes come on! You could chit-chat later. Now is butterfly time," he exclaimed while proceeding to pull an unwilling Italian through the door, purposely leaving the Canadian behind.

* * *

Once the American had dragged the European far enough, he stopped in his tracks to finally listen to said brunet who had been cursing like a sailor while trying but failing to wriggle out of the strong grip.

"What the fuck America? Are you doing it on purpose to keep me away from him at every chance you get? You've been doing this all damn day. _Cosa vuoi da me_?"

The American sighed; how to put it…

"I'm trying to make Mattie jealous." Answering bluntly had always been how he rolled.

South Italy stared at him incredulously for a moment, before suddenly smacking himself on the forehead in exasperation. Why did America, of all people, have to be his love-interest's sibling? "…Why?" He decided to stay calm, and breath. Breath deeply and continuously.

"Okay, just hear me out…" He turned his head to see if the Canadian was nearby.

The coast was clear; it seemed like said blond had not stepped foot in the large area yet.

"Don't ya think Matt will realize his feelings for you faster if you force it out of him? By always seeing you with me while I'm here, the green-eyed monster of jealousy and envy will rear its ugly head and make Matt want to fight me for your affections." He ceased his rambling to glance at the Mediterranean. Seeing the look of utter confusion on said nation's face, the American sighed, "Remind me never to let Arthur read me Shakespeare ever again." He cleared his throat, trying to make it seem as though his previous reference to Othello had never occurred. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that if we make it seem like we're happy together, it'll make Matt want to try harder to keep you by his side. From that, there's the possibility that he'll realize just how much he needs you in his life, and hence see just how crazy he is for you. The domino effect, in other words." Proud of himself, the flaxen smirked; his plan was totally fool proof.

The European was rather unsure of it all. "Look… I don't know. I'm having second thoughts about this whole thing. I mean, what if it backfires? What if he thinks that I'm becoming more and more friends with you to the point of forgetting all about him. I promised him that I'd never do that, but he obviously has trust issues. It's just… there's no way that I'm going to risk hurting him just because I'm too much of a fucking chicken to just admit my feelings straight up." He grabbed his face in his hands, demoralization hitting him square in the chest. "Fuck, I'm such a mess. I mean… he's just so perfect. He's… he's a masterpiece and I'm the useless, grumpy opposite of my brother. You know, while on the plane before my first day in this city, I had told myself that I'd rather have Matthew reject me than be stuck as his friend for the rest of my life…. But, now that I think back on that, I can't even tolerate the prospect of not having him in my life at all. Dealing with the immortality that comes with being a nation has become that much easier ever since I met him. Every time there's a meeting, seeing him is the only thing I look forward to. What you and he did for my people in my times of need… I've really taken it to heart." At this point, tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. He wiped at them furiously; he hated crying. It made him feel weak and broken. Even if America was his friend now, he refused to let his sadness – bordering hopelessness – show, lest he lose the dignity he had left after he had just spilled his worst fears.

Alfred, pretending he had not seen the unusual shine in the other country's eyes, diverted the conversation back to his plan. "Just so you know, I wouldn't have suggested making Matt jealous if I knew it could hurt him. Mattie is a lot tougher than he looks, and people should give him more credit for that. I mean, just look back at his involvement in both World Wars; he was a beast on the battlefield! So, what I'm trying to say is… just trust me on this. I did say I would help you win him over, right? For the time being, let me hold your hand until he gets here."

* * *

Meanwhile in front of the door to the exhibit, Canada was completely shell-shocked. He had been taken aback by his brother's bold gesture; it was as if Alfred had all of a sudden become possessive of Romano.

There was no way that the American was doing it on purpose to spite him, right?

As he stood in place reflecting on what had happened over the course of the day, more unsettling thoughts came to the forefront of his mind; if nothing was done on his part, both his twin and his best friend would progressively forget all about his presence, even if it was unconsciously.

Matthew was not one to let things happen so easily.

Resolved, he was on his way through the door when his cellphone vibrated in his pocket.

* * *

Losing his patience, America let go of the Italian's hand and stormed his way back towards the entrance of the exhibition.

He was about to lash out at his twin until he saw the latter on his phone. When the two locked eyes, all the Canadian had to do was mouth the words 'my boss' to cause the American's previous anger to completely dissipate.

Before Alfred could excuse himself, the Canadian lifted his forefinger to signal to wait a moment. Understanding, although still slightly irritated of having his plan ruined, the American waited for his brother to be done.

While he heard his brother finishing up with the Prime Minister, it occurred to him that he would have to step up his game if he wanted to get his twin and South Italy together. A smile slowly grew over his face; Matthew had mentioned bringing Romano skiing the 17th… and today, it just so happened to be the 16th. He knew for a fact that Matthew never brought his phone on the slopes for fear of breaking it. The gears of thought were slowly but surely rotating in his brain as he started to formulate a new plan.

"Alfie? Hello? You okay buddy?" The Canadian waved his hand over his brother's eyes, effectively snapping the latter out of his daydream.

The American chuckled, "Yup, I'm just fine and dandy. Let's go see the butterflies now. I felt like I couldn't just go see them without you, so I came to get you. Is anything wrong in Canada for your boss to be calling you at such a random hour?"

"Nah. Everything's swell. He just wanted to clear something up with me. A pressing matter, but nothing bad." He took a moment to adjust his scarf. "I can't wait to tell Lovino about all the species of moths and butterflies we have here in Canada. You're gonna help me like before, right?"

Said blue-eyed nation flicked his brother's nose playfully before answering, "Of course I am. What type of hero would I be if I left all the work of explaining to my baby bro?" He then gestured to the door, "After you."

* * *

"Finally! Took you long enough."

"Sorry Lovi. I had to answer a call. So, what do you think? Like what you see?" The Canadian made his way towards the Southern Italian, his brother in tow.

"Uh… yeah." He coughed. "Yes, the… butterflies… are quite pretty." He laughed nervously; he had almost slipped up. The truth was this: Matthew would forever remain the most beautiful sight from the Italian's perspective.

"Great. I'm glad." Canada pointed to a large red and grey moth resting on a leaf to their right. "This moth right here with the feathery antennae is a male Cecropia moth. This specie is basically only found in America and Canada." The Canadian smiled at that; he could never explain just how wonderful it felt to share so many things with Alfred. He then turned towards a fruit bowl where many different butterflies and moths alike were feeding off of. "Do you see that dark beauty there with the yellow and blue spots on its open wings? It's called the Black Swallowtail. If you get closer, you could see the small red spot it has near the bottom, between it's hindwings. This butterfly is found all over the Americas and is called ' _Papillon du céleri'_ in French, which translates to 'butterfly of celery'. I guess it's because its host plants are herbs of the Apiaceae family, which celery is a part of." He tapped his chin in thought, before walking away once more. "Moving on, this one is also exclusively from America and Canada. Here's a test Alfie; what's its name?" He winked at his twin; he knew Alfred hated feeling left out of a conversation, so decided to get him talking.

Said American squinted at the insect his brother was now indicating, and smiled in recognition. "Aww Mattie." He turned towards the European to begin explaining, "Like Matt said, this one's shared between myself and Canada. It's called the Luna Moth. If you must know, my dear Romano, this lime-green wonder is one of the largest moths in all of North America, and is considered the rock star of the moth family because of how cool its wings are. I mean just look at it; you can't say it isn't quite the looker." He tried to get said creature to perch itself on his finger, pouting as it flew away instead.

Chuckling, the Canadian patted his brother's shoulder in a comforting manner. "Don't worry Al, they'll come to you if you just stay patient. Don't chase after them, or they'll get scared. By the way guys, if you touch the wings of any of the butterflies or moths in this room, there's a possibility they won't be able to fly anymore. So, avoid their wings, m'kay? I'm especially looking at you, Al."

As Canada finished warning his brother, knowing that the latter still loved touching everything he could get his hands on even at his advanced age, a butterfly gently landed on the golden crown of his head.

"Matt… whatever you do, don't move."

"What? Why?"

"There's a Blue Morpho on your head. Romano, get in. I'm gonna take a picture. This is just too precious to pass up."

The brunet, slowly as to not disturb the beautiful creature, sidled up to the Canadian. Who was he to deny the opportunity of capturing happy memories with the Northern nation?

"Okay, say cheeeeeeese!" He then pressed the shutter of the professional camera he had brought along.

"Fine… cheese," the duo chorused together, large smiles adorning their faces.

"Alrighty… got it!" the American cheered. As soon as he found the picture after having pressed the 'back' button to search through his gallery, the wheat-blond swiftly brought a hand to stifle his laughter; this had come out better than he had thought.

Seeing this, Romano marched to where the blond was standing and practically wrenched the camera out of the American's grasp. "Why the hell are you laughing now?" He snorted at the American before scowling once he laid eyes on what was on the screen. "What the hell is that? Where's my face?" The one time he got to take a picture with his precious _angelo_ , it had been ruined by some type of butterfly flying right in front of his head at the precise moment the picture had been taken.

"Just when I thought the day couldn't get any better, a butterfly decides to photobomb the pic." The American laughed harder from his own comment. In actuality, it was better off this way; Matthew would have most probably noticed the Italian's flushed face had the flying creature decided not to intervene.

Curious, Matthew made his way towards the Italian, the other blond practically choking from suppressed laughter a few feet away, to see what the commotion was all about. Once he identified the source of his brother's sniggering, he gasped at what he saw. "Oh Lovi! That's not just any butterfly! That's a Monarch. Do you realize just how amazing they are? Every year starting in the fall season, they migrate from Canada all the way down to Mexico. And then, once summer comes back in Canada, they make the trip all the way back here! They're absolutely amazing. If anything, you should be honored that such a magnificent being graced this picture with its presence." His smile then faltered. "They too, are threatened. Mostly from climate change and destruction of habitat. But also from a lack of milkweed, which happens to be their host plant, amongst many other factors." He sighed, "Oh well…. So," he brightened up, "would you guys like to stay here for a few more hours or call it a day?"

Having finally calmed down from his earlier outburst, Alfred answered in a heart beat, "Are you kidding? I wanna stay here forever… or at least until your people kick us out. Either way, I still need to take a shit ton of pictures. This place contains tropical butterflies from all around the world right?"

"Yeah, you can find some from Africa, Europe, Asia… wherever. A lot of them come from Australia actually. I'll have to call Jett to properly thank him concerning that."

"Okay, tell him I say 'hi'." Alfred then turned towards South Italy, who had his arms crossed in irritation. "Come on Lovino, let's go explore some more. There's a display on chrysalises and caterpillars. Let's go see if we can associate them to their respective adult forms." Once more, he hauled the brunet away, leaving the Canadian confused for the umpteenth time that day.

"I never said I'd call him now…" said blond trailed off, not knowing what to do with himself.

* * *

Once back at the Canadian's home after the tiring afternoon spent learning about nature and all it had to offer, the three nations headed towards the living room and promptly crashed on the large couch.

"What do you guys wanna eat? I'm gonna order take out. I'm too tired to make anything myself, and you guys look like you could fall asleep any minute now. Not that I'd let my guests cook anyways."

"How about pizza, Mattie? I could sure as hell use a 'meat-lover's', with extra cheese. Hey, you think you can get the one with the cheese that oozes out of the crust? God, that's gotta be one of the best things they ever came up with."

The Italian frowned at that; what was it with these North Americans and their ways of ruining one of his favorite dishes? "No fucking way. Anything but pizza… or Italian foods for that matter." He turned to Canada. "How about we have something from your country. Isn't this city known for their smoked meat? I heard of this place called… what was it… Shwartz's?"

Lavender eyes widened in surprised. "You know about that? Sure, I can go, but it takes hours to get in, even more to get a table."

Losing his patience, the American let out a groan of irritation while threading a hand through his golden strands of hair. "For Christ's sake, Matt. Just use your nation status to get in faster. At this point, I think we can all just eat a horse from how hungry we are. While you get the meat, Romano and I will go buy some bread to make sandwiches."

"Why does Lovino have to go with you? Why can't he just stay here to set the table?"

"Because I'm not sure which bread he likes. So it's just better if he comes along. We can set the plates and whatever when we get back. The supermarket's only a couple of blocks away anyways." Sensing the Italian was going to retort to what had just been said, the American paused to slyly wink at him before the Canadian had time to notice. Obviously remembering their previous conversation back in the butterfly room, Romano kept quiet. "By the way, before I forget, do you have mustard? Or will we have to get that too? You can't have a smoked meat sandwich without it." The American casually resumed.

Sighing, Canada let his brother win. "Fine, take him with you. And yeah, I got a brand new bottle in the fridge. I am out of paper towels though, so can you get a few packs of those while you're there?" He was slightly peeved, but Alfred had made a good point; by the time the Canadian drove to the deli, the pair would have time to walk to and fro the store.

"'Kay bro. See you soon," he said while pulling the Italian to his feet. As soon as they had put their winter coats and boots on, they rushed out the door.

Baffled and now alone in the house, Matthew allowed himself to vent his frustrations by letting out a long, stress-releasing breath; his guests were acting rather odd today… at least, more so than usual.

* * *

"Is he for real? He practically admitted that a butterfly was better than me, his best friend. He was happier taking a picture with a damn butterfly…. I can't fucking believe it." Romano let out a string of curses, his hands pulling at his chocolate locks.

"Dude. Calm down. I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's always been a tree-hugger. He's just super passionate about nature and wildlife and stuff. Don't worry about it, alright?" he attempted to comfort the vexed Italian.

"I don't know America. When you told him you were bringing me along, all he did was ask why. He didn't even try to stop you. I don't think this is working. I mean, he's clearly not jealous."

"Whoa, don't allow yourself to get discouraged just yet. He's such a passive-aggressive little shit that he'll never actually do anything unless you piss him off enough." He paused, taking the time to formulate his next words. "You probably don't, but I could see it. What I mean by that is, it takes someone that's been around him long enough, which is the case for me, to see that Matt's annoyed. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he's on to us."

"…You think so?"

"I don't think so; I know so. There's no doubt in my mind that Matt's starting to get annoyed at me from always stealing you from him. I could tell you mean a lot in his eyes. He'd probably kill me if I ever took you away from him for good," he joked.

Lovino said nothing, just gazing pensively at the strip of sidewalk in front of him.

* * *

Arriving back sooner than he expected, Canada unlocked the front door to his house to see it was empty.

"It won't take long to go the supermarket, my ass. What the hell is taking them so long?" he muttered to himself.

A quarter of an hour later, as he was just about to finish setting the table, America and Romano came through the door.

Laughing, they walked into the kitchen to see one irritated Canadian tapping his foot impatiently.

"Oops… I think we're in trouble Lovino."

"Damn right you are. Where the hell have you guys been? I had time to drive all the way to Saint-Laurent Boulevard and back, and I still got here fifteen minutes early."

"Uh… we lost track of time?" The American scratched his cheek sheepishly, the Italian by his side unmoving.

The Northern nation narrowed his eyes, not liking where this was going. "Doing what?"

"Bope, nothing important. Just joking around and chillin'. You know, the usual."

Matthew internally fumed at that, but let nothing show. "Okay… well, I guess I'm just glad you guys came back. Better late than never, eh?"

Chuckling to himself, the American was more than satisfied by his brother's reaction; he had seen right through the Canadian's cool exterior. "Thanks Mattie. Anyways, how 'bout we get started on those sandwiches. I dunno about you dudes, but I'm famished." He started unwrapping the smoked meat, its mouth-watering scent now wafting freely through the air. "God, does this smell good. I gotta give it to you, bro; your food's great."

"Wow. It does look quite delicious. _Grazie_ for going out of your way for us Matthew," were the Italian's first words since he had entered the household.

Taken aback by the sudden onslaught of compliments, the Canadian's anger melted away, a mixture of satisfaction and pride taking its place. "No problem Lovi. Anything for my favorite people in the whole world."

* * *

After a relatively quiet yet pleasant dinner, considering the American had hardly uttered a word, the three nations decided to call it a night.

"Make sure you set your alarm clock for 9 o'clock sharp. I'm looking forward to spending the entire day on the mountains. You know, I was thinking, we should go skiing in the Alps one day, Lovi. If Al wants to tag along, he could come too. It'd be so much fun." The Canadian, already making future plans in his head, rambled to the Italian who was currently helping him clean up. "Maybe we could convince Switzerland to ski down his part of the mountains, so that we could visit the whole mountain range. We could start in France. _Papa_ probably wouldn't mind anyways. Hey! Maybe he could come too! He loves to snowboard, so I'm sure he'd join us," Canada blabbered on excitedly. Anything involving winter sports could get him going for hours.

Entering the kitchen after having brushed his teeth in one of the second floor bathrooms, Alfred commented just as excitedly. "Dude! That'd be wild. The next time there's a world meeting in Paris, we should totally convince Francis to come with. I'd race him and prove once and for all that I'm the fastest snowboarder amongst us nations. Just imagine it for a sec, it'd be absolutely epic!"

"Umm, excuse me? What makes you think you're the fastest?" the Canadian enquired, searching for a challenge.

"Well isn't it obvious? I've already raced every nation that 'boards. The only one I haven't is Francis. Either way, no one can come close to the hero, so my victory is already pretty much in the bag," the sunny-blond stated confidently.

"Oh? And what about me? You never challenged me to a race."

"Pftt. You don't snowboard. The only thing I've ever seen you do is ski." His Northern twin never ceased to amaze him.

"That's just because I happen to like skiing better. It's like skating… to a certain extent. So how about it? Wanna race?" He smirked; beating Alfred was going to be a breeze.

Loving the violet flames of challenge he saw dancing in his twin's eyes, Alfred agreed in a heartbeat. "Hell yeah. Bring it on, lil' bro. Just so you know, I ain't gonna go easy on you."

"Good. I'd hate you for it if you did."

Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, South Italy decided to call it quits. "Okay… well, _buonasera_ Matthew, Alfred. _A domani_."

Barely acknowledging the European's words, the North America twins continued to stare each other down.

Only one could be crowned king of the slopes.

End of Chapter Seven – Fin du Chapitre Sept

Translations:

 _per favore –_ please

 _Cosa vuoi da me?_ – What do you want from me? (in an exasperated tone)

 _Buonasera_ – Have a good evening. Word for word, it would be 'good evening'. In French, it's ' _bonne soirée_ '. I'm not sure about its proper use in Italian, but ' _bonne soirée_ ' is used more as a goodbye than a greeting (like it is in English). Since French and Italian are both Latin languages that have many points in common, I assumed I could use _Buonasera_ the French way (meaning, as a goodbye) in the story.

 _A domani_ – 'See you tomorrow'. In French, it would be 'à demain'.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

I've noticed that in the US, most people say 'restroom', while in Canada I mostly hear 'washroom'... Just a funny fact I've noticed over the years. Though, maybe it's just me...

Whether you go to the Botanical Gardens in the winter, the summer, the fall or the spring, there are always different things to see. Obviously, in the summer, there's more to see outside since most flowers and trees are in bloom (you guys should see the Chinese and Japanese gardens, WOW! And the First Nations Garden is pretty special too if you want to learn more about Canadian history). Yet, you'd be surprised to see how awesome it is in the winter and during the autumn months. Certain exhibits are only open during certain times of the year, so it provides you with the reason to visit during all four seasons of the year. :)

The type of bread typically used for smoked meat sandwiches is rye bread. However, for the sake of the story, I decided not to point that out. By the way, I wasn't kidding; it takes forever to get into Schwartz's. Admittedly, their smoked meat is awesome, but they're not the only place in town that offers such good quality smoked meat, so don't be fooled! There are many others; Schwartz's is just more well-known. :)

 **A/N:** So as you can probably tell from how slow this story is going (at least, that's the case for the past few chapters), I'm a fan of a love/romance that builds slowly. In my humble opinion, it doesn't seem realistic when two people fall in love almost instantly. Usually, in real life, it takes time for people to come to actually deeply love and care for each other, faults and all. Either way… the next chapter will be a little different. By the way, for the description of the Insectarium, I copied some of the text found on its website. I mean, I've been to the Insectarium a bunch of times, but for some reason it was hard for me to describe it besides saying 'it's a museum with bugs in it'.

Sending you all a bundle of hugs,

~SailorHikarinoMu


	8. Chapter 8: Ski Hills & Confessions

Disclaimer: Hetalia ne m'appartient pas. Que voulez-vous (what do you want)? Nor do I own Dunkin' Donuts or Mont-Tremblant.

A/N: Just when I thought school would get less stressful, I get a ton of stuff to do... Sorry….

On to the story!

 **Canadian Refuge**

" _As exquisite as a finely staged opera, as exuberant as the best street carnival, as earthy as a mucky white truffle snouted fresh from the ground by a dog – Italy spares no expense when it comes to the traveller experience. It is Europe's iconic land of effortless style, easy living, insatiable passion and ubercool chic. It's where history's ancient glories harmoniously fuse with third-millennium sophistication to create a beautiful love affair that never dies. From Rome's magnificent monuments to the masterpiece of Renaissance Florence and Venetian romance, from the in-your-face drama of the Amalfi Coast to the remote flamboyance of Southern Italy's mountains, this is one country where the passion never dulls_."

~ The Travel Book – A Journey Through Every Country in the World

* * *

It was cold, but pleasantly so. Snow falling gently, lazily from the powdery sky.

It was one of those days where one would feel the need to stop whatever it was they were doing, their daily routine, to simply gaze at the virgin, sparkling snowflakes descending gracefully towards the ground, the occasional gust of wind sending the white crystals spiraling along as if a tornado.

Lovino, not one to often get the chance to see snow in his country, felt the need to watch the meteorological event from his passenger seat in the back of the Canadian's car. As Matthew drove, Romano studied.

He had never payed much mind to the snow, but this time… it felt out of the ordinary. The whole mood in the air felt different than what he had been accustomed to over the past week in Canada – disregarding the day spent in Arizona. Still, the brunet noticed each and every one of these feathery flakes as they landed on his window pane. A snowflake was a curious thing indeed; individually, each one was unique, yet they all displayed such intricate beauty when one took the time to look. His quiet moment of contemplation was disrupted when Matthew softly announced their arrival.

"Okay guys, we're here. Allow me to introduce you to _Mont-Tremblant_ , a popular ski destination amongst the locals, but also known around the world." The Canadian paused for a moment in order to park properly; ice and snow never made driving easy, even when one's car was equipped with winter tires. "Let's get our gear and get ready for the sure-to-be-amazing day ahead of us!" he resumed cheerily, pulling his keys from the ignition.

Not needing to be told twice, America immediately unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the car. Throughout the entirety of the drive, Alfred had been enthusiastic and pumped up for the day ahead of them.

With their skiing and snowboarding equipment now in their arms, the three nations made their way towards the ski lodge, taking their time to gaze at the winter wonderland before them.

* * *

The first few hours were spent descending each of the various trails at full speed. The trio had unanimously decided to start their morning with the expert runs, having had years of practice.

The race between the North American brothers was planned to be the last descent of the day.

* * *

After a while, the need for a break, as well as for food and water won over their desire to continue.

Once they set foot in the typical wooden chalet, Romano and Alfred headed towards the lockers to get the packed lunches they had prepared the previous night, while Matthew made his way to the cafeteria with the purpose of saving a table.

As they came back from the locker area, Alfred jogged towards the square table the Canadian had chosen and plopped down in a chair. "Dude, that was awesome! The weather's just perfect right now," he exclaimed while taking out utensils and Tupperwares filled with various foods.

Canada simply nodded, watching as the superpower then began digging out sandwiches and water bottles. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Latin nation leisurely making his way towards them, carrying a large lunch box filled with snacks.

As the South Italian neared, he unzipped his coat, to then take a seat next to the American.

Noticing this, Matthew internally growled. He hated thinking so pettily, but it irritated him to see Lovino sit next to Alfred as if it was the most natural thing to do.

As much as it rubbed him the wrong way, he made not a peep.

* * *

As the last bites of sandwiches and forkfuls of salad were chewed and swallowed, America got up and stretched. Snowboarding with his brother and South Italy had done a number on his muscles, but not to the point of severe discomfort. Either way, he was now ready to commence the first phase of his plan.

"Ready for round two Alfie? Lovino's gone to put away our stuff, so he should be back any minute now." The Canadian took a last swig from his single-use water bottle before disposing of it in the recycling bin. He would have preferred bringing his reusable bottle, but Alfred had convinced him otherwise. Something about less things to wash afterwards…

As if on cue, the European made his way back to where the Northern Americans were standing.

Alfred took that moment to rub his neck as if it were sore. "I think I'll stay here a while longer. My body'll need to relax before having to race against you. I mean, just by seeing your 'boarding skills so far, I could tell you're going to be my toughest opponent yet Mattie. Either way, I need myself a nice cup of coffee right about now. I only had one before we left this morning." His eyes darted around the room. "They don't have Dunkin' Donuts here, but whatever they're serving at the cafeteria will have to do. Go ahead and hit the slopes; I'll catch up later."

Matthew accepted his explanation without question, nodding understandingly. He then grabbed the Mediterranean by the arm and tugged him along.

Alfred made no move to do as he had said, and instead watched the pair make their way outside. He made sure to follow their every movement.

* * *

"So, Lovi. Which Double Black Diamond run would you like to do? Do you want to take the gondolas or the chairlifts?" Matthew asked as he adjusted a pair of ski goggles over his glasses.

"I prefer the chairlifts. I like the feeling of mountain air on my skin."

The Canadian studied him for a moment. "I thought you weren't a fan of cold weather…"

"That's true. I do tolerate the heat a lot better. Being on a mountain is different, though. The air seems fresher and it just… feels liberating. I've always liked mountainous regions, especially the ones I have back home. I feel free once I'm at the top, overlooking the horizon. It makes you realize how small you are compared to the world..."

"I feel the same way. Guess that's one more thing we have in common, eh?" he joked. The blond had missed these types of pleasant conversations with the Italian. It felt so incredibly wrong, but he had almost burst with joy when Alfred had announced he would meet up with them later.

They then wordlessly made their way to the closest chairlift, Romano feeling uncharacteristically nervous; something in the air told him, warned him, that the upcoming moments were going to be eventful.

* * *

Just like when he skated, Matthew greatly enjoyed the cool breeze blowing through his wavy hair as the chairlift slowly, but steadily, brought them up the western side of the mountain. They had been seated for a good ten minutes and were already half-way up. He let a barely audible – yet nevertheless, content – sigh escape his lips, the low-pitched humming of the machine's engine putting the worries that had accumulated over the past three days at ease. He then allowed his eyelids to flutter shut.

His eyes immediately sprang open not a second later once he felt the chairlift come to a sudden stop. Alarmed, he looked around and tried to identify what the problem was on his own. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he relaxed back into his seat and waited patiently; a chairlift coming to a standstill was, after all, a normal occurrence on ski hills.

Unbeknownst to him, Alfred was surveilling his and Romano's every move from his position at the base of the mountain.

* * *

South Italy, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. Matthew had remained oblivious to it, but Lovino had known in an instant that Alfred had been lying through his teeth when he had pretended his muscles were stiff, back at the cabin. In all honesty, the brunet had been surprised Matthew had believed it so easily, unless... he had faked this ignorance on purpose. Whether it had been the case or not, Lovino was simply glad to be alone in the Canadian's company.

That feeling was now morphing into dread, however. As soon as the Italian had heard the slow whirring of the motor come to a pause, he had known something was up. When he had whipped his head around to look towards the bottom of the hill, the European had seen Alfred exiting from the chairlift control cabin to verify said lift had indeed stopped. Once that had been confirmed, the superpower had taken out a pair of binoculars from _Dio_ knows where and had openly started observing them.

Upon further inspection, the Italian suddenly gasped at the realization; Alfred was now undoubtedly waiting for him to confess. Judging from the chair the American was now sitting on, the wheat-blond was clearly proving how prepared he was to spend as much time as necessary waiting for Romano to finally give up and admit his feelings.

Internally, the Italian was panicking; there was no way he was ready. Then again, when would he ever be? He nearly jumped when a delicate hand placed itself on his shoulder; Matthew had probably sensed the tension and pure apprehension flooding the older nation's senses.

"Lovi… what's the matter? Are you okay? If you have a fear of heights, you can tell me. Or, are you perhaps feeling claustrophobic? This isn't a relatively enclosed space but I-"

"No. I'm not okay," Romano interrupted, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins. He looked down at his lap, not daring to meet the enticing, yet all-knowing lavender eyes that graced his dreams at night.

The Canadian studied him for a moment, before softly asking, "What do you mean 'you're not okay'? You can tell me what's wrong if you'd like. I'll try and help as much as I can."

Lovino weakly shook his head, preparing for the worst. "That's the problem. There's only one way you could help, and that would be for you to say you love me."

There was a momentary pause as Canada stared, mouth agape.

"That I what? Lovino, what are you talking about? I don't understand." Just what did South Italy mean by that? What was going on?

The brunet turned sharply at that, hazel eyes staring directly into confused amethyst. "What is there to understand? I just…" He took a long, shaky breath, pushing his fears away for a moment in order to speak clearly. "I love you Matthew… Canada. I have for over a hundred years and I've never said anything. I thought you would have maybe noticed by now, or at least I had hoped so. I'm sorry if I'm just coming out so suddenly, but it hurts. It hurts to be near you knowing that you have no idea how much I care about you. I can't even properly explain it in Italian, much less in English." He looked away for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I-" He was interrupted when the safety bar was abruptly lifted, and looked back just in time to see Matthew jump off.

* * *

Panic returning to his being in full force, Lovino leaned down and saw it all:

Matthew falling.

Falling ever closer, nearer to the snow covered slope.

Landing.

Tumbling awkwardly in the snow for a moment.

Getting up to then brush the icy white crystals off of his person.

Attaching his other foot to the snowboard.

And finally: Racing down the mountain faster than Romano had ever thought possible.

As he continued to watch the Canadian's descent towards the base of the mountain, a single expression of feeling made its way down the Italian's cheek, crystallizing on the spot as a sudden gust of harsh Arctic wind whipped its surface. Nary a sound escaped from his trembling rosebud lips.

It had all happened so fast, but he had seen the fear and disbelief that had been ever present in those lovely orchid purple eyes throughout his confession.

The European slowly wiped his eyes, mentally berating himself once more for crying; tears were a sign of weakness to him. And the proud nation that was South Italy was a far cry from being weak. Yet, as much as he tried to convince himself of that, this had simply been too much. The Canadian's rejection – or at least, that was what it seemed like from the Italian's perspective – was undeniably, even when considering all of the wars and battles he had lived through as a nation, the biggest, most excruciating blow to his very being.

Once Canada's silhouette was out of view, Romano sat back in his seat as the entirety of his body went numb.

He payed no mind to the fierce blasts of mountain wind stinging his face with their bitter coldness.

* * *

Thoughts, each more nonsensical than the one before, raced through his mind mercilessly. Lovino… his best friend Lovino… loved him? He had been in love with him for all these years and Matthew had been blind to it all? How was that even remotely possible? Matthew Williams was not and had never been an idiot. So how in the world did something as important as his best friend's feelings escape his knowledge?

As the Canadian finally set foot at the base of the ski hill, he was about to head towards the lodge when a hand grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him back.

"What the fuck was that?" came a voice heavily laced with anger.

He immediately turned around and was greeted with a red-in-the-face America. Knowing his Southern twin, Alfred was most probably trying his hardest not to lash out at him, and was thus keeping his rage contained, hence the redness.

"Al, I don't want to talk about it. Now will you please let me go?" Matthew tried to free himself of his brother's vice-like grip, which only resulted in the American squeezing tighter.

"Oh hell no! Did you just fucking see yourself? Here I was enjoying the view when I suddenly find myself watching my brother fall off a fucking ski lift. That was at least a two-story drop Matthew! I don't give two shits that you're immortal; you could have gotten hurt! Why the fuck did you jump, huh?" The superpower was now audibly grinding his teeth together, clearly trying to control his boiling temper.

"Al, not now. Besides, the snow broke my fall. I knew what I was doing. Please… just let go of my arm." The blond tried again to break free from his brother's hold.

"I will when you tell me what the hell just happened. Why did you do it?" At this point, the previous anger on his face had melted into worry. A hint of regret was also clearly displayed in those usually mirthful baby blues.

"NO! Leave me alone Alfred." With that, he violently tugged his arm back and ran away from his twin as fast as his legs could bring him.

Stunned at his brother's sudden outburst, the American turned on his heel to head back towards the control cabin. It was high time he turned the chairlift switch back to 'on'; he doubted Romano would jump off himself.

Thinking of said Italian, he directed his gaze towards the general direction of the chairlifts and saw the European's hunched form near the top of the hill. America then squinted and noticed how the brunet was unmoving in his seat.

Today's plan had been a total failure, the American grudgingly thought to himself while kicking the chair he had previously been sitting on.

* * *

Romano had hardly noticed the chairlift moving until he arrived at the top. No longer feeling like skiing, he stayed on the chairlift and waited patiently for it to descend back to the bottom.

As soon as said nation arrived, Alfred promptly switched the motor off and burst out of the cabin to head towards South Italy, who was thus far making no motion to get off the lift anytime soon.

"Lovino…" The blond wracked his brain for a gentle way to broach the subject. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that-"

"He'd jump off? I didn't think so either," interrupted the Italian softly.

The American studied him for a moment; the European seemed to be stuck in a daze. "I didn't mean for that to happen. Honest to God, I'm so sorry. Did he even say anything? Anything before he…you know…"

"Before he did it? No. He just looked at me as if he didn't believe me. He looked scared more than anything…. Confused, too. I had just turned away for one second and that was all the time he needed…" His voice was soft, almost as if he were thinking out loud rather than talking to someone.

"That doesn't mean he rejects you though." The American smiled, feeling hopeful; maybe his plan could still succeed after all. "It probably just came as a shock to him. A surprise. Heck, even I would've been surprised if someone I've been friends with for over a century suddenly told me they loved me. He probably took it harder though. I mean, like I've said before, Matt doesn't believe that someone could ever be romantically interested in him." He paused for a moment. "I bet you anything that he's in full denial mode right now."

"I want to find him… I have to explain. He didn't let me finish." The Italian's shoulders drooped slightly.

"Let's go see if his car is still here. If it's not, I'll call a cab."

* * *

A trip to the parking lot confirmed that Canada had indeed left the resort.

"Don't worry Romano. Knowing him, he's probably driving home right about now. Mattie's not one to just disappear off the face of the Earth whenever something goes wrong. Besides, he has that bear of his to look after." He then took out his phone to call a taxi.

The Italian stayed motionless by his side, hoping Alfred was right.

* * *

Correct in his assumptions, the American soon spotted his brother's sedan once they were close enough to the Canadian's Montreal home.

The second they arrived, Alfred payed the driver and practically pulled Romano out of the vehicle. "C'mon Lovino. Don't be acting so glum. Have some confidence in yourself. You said you wanted to find him, right? Well, he's right through that door." He pointed towards the front entrance.

"I know that's what I said before but… what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he needs time to think or something? I mean… talking to him doesn't seem like a good idea anymore now that I think about it." He fiddled with the hem of his winter coat, unsure of what to do now that they were in front of his Northern angel's house.

America smirked. "Stop thinking like that. You're just wasting time. All you gotta do is march right in there and show him some Italian charm. Prove to him that your feelings are genuine and I'm confident he'll give you a chance. Normally, I don't give love advice. But, since this is my dear brother we're talking about, I'm making an exception. So don't let me down now, okay?" He then took hold of both of the European's shoulders, his gaze holding Lovino's as he enunciated his next words. "You. Can. Do this."

Feeling reassured, South Italy nodded confidently. Alfred was right; he could do it. Thanking America with every ounce of gratitude he could muster, he headed towards Canada's home.

"That's the spirit! Go get 'im Lovino! I'll only be a call away if you need me."

The European, head held high, made no further comment as he approached the Canadian's front door; whether Alfred stayed or left was currently of no importance to him. This was his moment to set things straight, and he'd be damned before he allowed himself to back down now.

Watching him go, America stood still. For the time being, all he could do was wait.

* * *

As he tried the door, Lovino was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. Had Matthew, perhaps, known he was coming and thus done it on purpose? Or had he simply forgotten to lock it in his haste to get home?

Choosing not to ponder the matter further, he slipped inside. In the stillness of the house, his steps, although soft, echoed through the air.

* * *

Hearing the telltale signs that someone was currently making their way towards him, Matthew set his bottle of maple beer down and waited patiently for the newcomer to make themselves known.

The wait turned out to be short-lived, for there stood Lovino by the entrance to the living room.

In fact, the Arctic nation had not needed to see him to know; the Italian had always had a unique presence that manifested itself as soon as he entered a room.

"… I'm sorry," the Canadian began softy, still refusing to look towards the older man's general direction. "I don't really know what came over me." A calming breath later, he resumed. "I just… I apologize for running away like that. I didn't mean to. Sorry." As long as Romano remained silent, he would keep apologizing for his rude behaviour.

"I'm sorry, too." Lovino took a tentative step forward. "I shouldn't have… you know, poured my heart out to you like that. It wasn't fair for me to just say something like that on a whim." He steadily made his way over to the sofa where the Northern country was sitting. "But dammit Matthew, I love you. And I needed you to know that. These feelings have been cooped up for so long that... I practically felt like I was going insane. The main reason I haven't said anything until now is because I was scared shitless of what your reaction might be. Even so, I never felt like it was the right time. It's just…." He pulled at his hair in irritation, before throwing his hands up. "Fuck it, I'll just say it in Italian. _Quando penso, penso solo a te._ _Vedo solo te. Vivo solo per te, Canada. Sei il mio ultimo pensiero della sera, il sogno più bello della notte. Ora lo sai…. Per me, sei il mio unico amore_." He then crouched down to the Canadian's eye level, staring straight into the two glimmering amethysts in front of him. " _Per favore_ , be mine." He kept his face as composed as possible, waiting with bated breath for his _angelo_ 's answer.

Saying that Matthew was stunned and touched beyond belief would be the understatement of the century. Lovino's words had been so heartfelt that his limited knowledge of Italian had not been needed to understand just what the Mediterranean was trying to convey.

"…Okay." It had come out slowly, barely above a whisper, but it was an answer nonetheless. A positive one at that.

The Italian broke into a nervous, yet relieved laugh. It was as if all of the fears and worries that had been heavily weighing down on his heart over the years had suddenly disappeared into thin air. Gone. As uncertainty turned into elation, he promptly enveloped the blond in a warm, delighted hug. "I promise; I won't make you regret that. _Ti amo tanto, tesoro mio_." Oh, how much he had longed to say those words out loud…

"Is that my new nickname?" the Canadian asked while hugging back. In actuality, it felt rather nice being so close to the other man.

"It's been my secret name for you all along, _il mio angelo_." He pressed Matthew closer, trying to hide the beatific smile that was threatening to split his face in two.

Meanwhile, Matthew wondered how he could have gone so long without noticing Romano's romantic intentions. He then recalled the morning of the ' _Vélo sous zéro_ ' bicycle event; he had woken up with the Italian's arms wrapped tightly, almost possessively around his waist. In all honesty, he had thought nothing of it at the time. Yet now that the cat was out of the bag, similar instances that he had brushed off as Romano's quirks now resurfaced to the forefront of his mind. Had he been more attentive to these signs, the Canadian would have figured it out by now. The True North hid his face to keep the Italian from seeing the mixture of shame and guilt now freely displayed on his features.

They remained that way for a while longer, until limbs slowly disentangled themselves.

The silence that ensued was then broken by Canada. "Just so you know… I'm still a little hesitant. I mean, I've never exactly been confessed to before. I know it's maybe a bit much to ask but… do you think we could take it slow for a bit? Our relationship that is." He ducked his head in embarrassment, before suddenly feeling gentle fingers lifting his chin.

"That would be fine. Just make sure to let me know if I'm making you feel uncomfortable, and I promise I'll stop whatever it is I'm doing."

"Thanks…. You know, you could sit down now."

South Italy looked down and noticed that he was, indeed, hovering over the blond. Blushing, he immediately plopped down on the couch cushion next to the North American.

The Canadian then noticed how Lovino had started twiddling his thumbs awkwardly, as if he were debating over some important matter.

"Would it make you uncomfortable if…." The Mediterranean looked away, his face now impossibly red, before rewording his question, "Can I kiss you?" By then, his hands had already reached out to the other man's face, cupping the soft cheeks tenderly.

As lavender eyes burned straight into nervous but slightly pleading hazel, Matthew nodded slowly. Porcelain hands slowly covered the Mediterranean's own in a subtle gesture of encouragement.

That was all that was needed for Lovino to take possession of his lips.

It started as innocent as it could be, the Italian gradually taking a more passionate approach.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by how forward South Italy was being, Matthew was on the verge of pushing the other man away until he naturally relaxed into the kiss. One hand moved to the other's head, snow white fingers gently entangling themselves in the Italian's rich chocolate locks, while the other glided downwards to the small of Romano's back, pushing him even closer. It was an odd sensation, having your best friend be your first kiss. Yet, he loved every second of it, and found himself wanting more.

Romano, on the other hand, was desperately trying not to melt on the spot. It was proving to be difficult not to jump then and there on the nation his heart had been yearning for, being the passionate nation he was. Even so, this exact moment was what he had been dreaming of for years, and he would be damned before he let himself ruin it by giving in to his carnal desires.

As they parted, their eyes locked and they soon found themselves smiling widely at each other. No words were needed at that moment; their hearts soared, souls perfectly in sync.

* * *

Outside of the house, Alfred chuckled to himself knowingly. He had just come back from a quick trip to a nearby Dunkin' Donuts – it was a wonder how one was still in business despite the general population's love for Tim Hortons – and his phone had received not a single text or call. Obviously, Lovino had done a good job at convincing his brother to go out with him.

He was glad; ultimately, his plan of bringing the two together had succeeded.

He took his phone out of his pocket and began typing.

' _Mattie,_

 _Don't wait for me to watch tonight's game. I decided to head right on out to NYC seeing as you're currently busy ;)_

 _Tell Lovino that if he fucks_ _shit up, he's as good as dead._

 _Love,_

 _Your favorite hero, a.k.a. the best person in the entire universe._

 _P.S. – And no, it's not 'favorite' with a 'u' in it. Honestly… you and your citizens should learn how to spell properly, for crying out loud!_

 _P.S. #2 – Don't you dare think I forgot about our race! The next time we go snowboarding, it'll just be you & me, bro._'

With a small smile, he quickly sent the text and disappeared down the street.

End of Chapter Eight – Fin du Chapitre Huit

Translations:

 _Quando penso, penso solo a te. Vedo solo te. Vivo solo per te, Canada. Sei il mio ultimo pensiero della sera, il sogno più bello della notte._ _Ora lo sai…. Per me, sei il mio unico amore_ – 'When I think, I think only of you. I see only you. I live only for you, Canada. You are my last thought of the evening, the most beautiful dream of the night. Now you know…. For me, you are my only love.'

 _per favore –_ please

 _Ti amo tanto, tesoro mio_ – I love you so much, my treasure

 **Details to better understand the story:**

Mont-Tremblant is a small city near both Ottawa and Montreal. It takes a little less than two hours to get there by car from Montreal. There are just so many things to do there: golfing, hiking, rafting, zip-lining and more. However, it is mostly known for its ski resort, also called Mont-Tremblant. In English, Mont-Tremblant means 'trembling mountain'. I've been there before, and I loved it. The homes there are pretty colorful and the city just has this cozy, welcoming vibe. There's so much to see and do all year round, and did I mention that the view from up top is stunning? So many trees :)

For those of you who have never skied before or are unfamiliar with certain terms, here's some terminology:

\- 'Double Black Diamond' runs are the most difficult trails in a ski resort. Technically, they're reserved for experts only.

\- A safety bar is as the name suggests. It's usually a metal bar that you bring over your head once you get on a chairlift. It's to keep people (especially children) from falling off the lift while going up. Do me a favor guys; never jump off a chairlift for no reason. You could easily break your leg even if there's a thick layer of snow. Sometimes the snow may appear to be fluffy, but it's actually not.

 **A/N:** To me, snow could easily be compared to love. Because in a way, snow is a double-edged sword (just like love). It can hurt you (trust me, it can), but it can also make life that much more beautiful. I personally love it (only virgin snow, not when it's all slushy or dirty from pollution; that's just ugly). My readers from Nordic countries might agree with me on this, but there's nothing quite as awe-inspiring as a fresh snowfall sparkling under the moonlight or early morning sun…

I thought it'd be cool to have Romano analyze snowflakes since he doesn't get to see it all that much from where he comes from. Either way, snow is such a big part of Canada's identity, too.

Hoping this chapter hasn't overwhelmed you with it's fluffiness (there'll only be more of that from now on anyways),

~SailorHikarinoMu


	9. Chapter 9: Space for Life, Part 2

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

A/N: Hmm… it's been like two months since I've last updated, and I apologize profusely for that. However, this chapter has over 14k words, which makes it my longest yet. Usually, the previous chapters were on average 6k words, so at least I made this chapter double the length of my usual. That's gotta count for something, right? At least I hope so…

By the way, thank you so much for your continued support, whether it be in the form of PMs, favorites, follows, reviews or simply reading this story. It honestly makes my day and I just wanted you guys to know that.

Anyways, here's the next chapter!

 **Canadian Refuge**

Matthew woke up early the next morning, thoughts having ruined his good night's repose.

What concerned him most was not that the Canadiens had lost – yet again – 3 to 2 against Colorado the previous night, but rather the man sleeping in the guestroom across the hall. His heart had accepted the fact that they were now 'together', but his brain on the other hand was having difficulty processing this new reality.

The most pressing question of all was this: could he consider himself to be in love with Lovino?

He had to admit at least this much; he felt something. Whether it was love, he had not an inkling. For all he knew, it could simply be infatuation, an illusion of love.

This uncertainty did nothing to prevent the avalanche of thoughts from tumbling its way down to the forefront of his mind.

Snapping out of his daze due to a shift in weight at his side, he turned to see Kumalala snuggling up to him.

As he smiled down at the cub, Kumajirou let out a yawn to then blink up at his master's face.

"Hey Kuma, sleep well?" He threaded a hand through the soft snowy fur.

" _Qui es-tu_?" The bear blinked again.

Chuckling, Matthew answered, "I'm Canada."

"Ah… Are you okay? You seem worried about something. Is it because of that man in the other room?"

It was the Canadian's turn to blink as he stared dumbfounded at his companion. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I could tell he really likes you." He paused at seeing the downcast expression on his master's face. "Did he do something to upset you?"

"Huh?" The blond's eyes widened momentarily before looking away. "No… well not particularly. You see, he's in love with me. But, I don't know if I love him back…. I'm just really scared of hurting him if it turns out that I don't," he finished softly.

The polar bear said nothing for a moment, as if analyzing the situation, before he asked, "Is this man the first thing that pops into your head in the morning, and the last thought at night just before you go to sleep? When you see him, do you feel like hugging him close to the point of never letting go? Do you act out of character just to see him smile or hear his laugh? Do you get jealous when you see him giving his attention to someone other than you?" Letting the questions work their magic, the cub stretched his hind legs to then hop off the bed and land on the oak hardwood flooring.

While thinking, Matthew soon realized the inevitable; each and every one of the questions had an affirmative answer. It was true; the Canadian did find himself thinking of the Italian often, and he did act unlike himself just to provoke even the smallest of grins from Lovino.

Kumajiji's last question, however, had been the one to impact him most; over the course of the week, he had practically reeked of jealousy whenever the European had been messaging his boss in Italy or idly chatting with Alfred. Though, what could he say? Matthew knew himself to be secretly, selfishly needy for Lovino's undivided attention. Whether on friendly or romantic terms, it felt nice to have someone focus solely on him, the personification of Canada.

Did this mean….

Yes, it did.

The fact of the matter was this: Matthew was just as in love with Romano, as the Italian was with him.

Whether the Canadian had always felt this way was an uncertainty. Yet, the greater possibility was yes, he admitted to himself.

Eyes closed and lips in a thin line, he tried to suppress the intermingling disbelief, shame and embarrassment from shattering his composure.

It was so very ironic how France, during Matthew's years as New-France before the Seven Years' War, had taught him all about the signs of love, yet present Canada had been unable to realize it on his own without external help. From a talking bear no less.

Regardless of it all, he felt alleviated by the fact that now, he knew.

He knew now that he reciprocated Romano's sentiments.

Although Francis' love advice from all those years ago had been forgotten until this morning, Canada figured now was the best time to demonstrate his French heritage in other ways…

Not noticing the bear was already long gone from the bedroom, Matthew expressed his gratitude out loud, " _Merci Kuma_. You'll definitely be getting a treat tonight."

With that said, the representation of the Great White North slid out of the covers to make his way to the kitchen; a sweet, celebratory breakfast was in order.

* * *

South Italy stirred from his slumber as the commingling scents of cinnamon and brown sugar wafted at his nose. Conscious of the fact that last night's sleep had been the most undisturbed in decades, a genuine, albeit lazy smile graced his heart-shaped face.

While tiptoeing to the bottom of the stairs – just in case Matthew had decided to sway to another one of his Canadian songs like he had at the beginning of Lovino's stay – he realized how weightless his heart felt in his chest. As weightless as a cloud, he supposed.

Once at the entrance to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks when Matthew turned around to wish him a good morning.

How the Canadian had known he was there was a mystery to him.

He decided to let the issue slide. "Smells good. What're you making?" he mumbled sleepily, the need for coffee prominent despite having had a good night's rest.

"Cinnamon French toast with lots of brown sugar. I also added a hint of vanilla." The Canadian flipped the one currently sizzling in the pan. "You know, it's funny. Apparently, people in France call it ' _pain perdu_ ' which means 'lost bread', whereas people here call it ' _pain doré_ ', meaning 'golden bread'. I find it interesting how Quebec French and French from France have different words for certain things," he mused out loud.

Sitting down, Lovino's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why do English-speakers call it 'French' toast then? From what I remember, it didn't even originate in France."

The blond hummed pensively for a moment, before he moved the hot pan to a cool stovetop and turned the knob to 'off'. "You're right; it didn't. There are a lot of things that don't even come from France but have its demonym." He slid the still-hot breakfast off of the griddle pan and onto two plates. "Just from the top of my head, I think of French toast, French fries, French braids, French horns, French manicures…" he trailed off while approaching the European, looking up as if he were searching the ceiling for more answers. "French kissing…" he resumed his enumeration once he stood before Lovino, the latter still seated.

Separated from the older nation by a mere kitchen table, Canada set the plates of the sweet fried bread down to then slowly, sensually reach out and caress Romano's face. His pale elbows now leaning against the dark wood surface, the blond spoke once more. "I'd like to partake in a so-called 'French kiss'. Would that make you –" he drawled the word as his finger trailed down the Italian's Adam's apple, stopping at his collarbone "– uncomfortable?" He purposefully used the brunet's words from the previous day against him.

South Italy's breath hitched. "Wha –" he was interrupted by cool, rose petal soft lips on his own. His caramel eyes fluttering shut, he let the Canadian's tongue slip into his mouth with only so much as a quiet, muffled moan. Instead of resisting as he was wont to do, Lovino's tanned fingers lost themselves in his _angelo_ 's golden waves of hair – like a sailor sinking rapidly, yet serenely into the watery depths of Poseidon's ocean realm.

The sweet-smelling breakfast forgotten for the time being, a fervent tango of tongues ensued.

Pleased by this easy submission, the North American grabbed the Italian's – undoubtedly designer – dress shirt collar to hold him in place before pulling away from the Latin nation's all too warm lips. "We're going on a date tonight," he announced breathlessly, still clutching the fabric with both hands.

"Hmm?" Stuck in a daze, the Canadian's words barely registered in Lovino's mind.

The Northern nation chuckled, lavender eyes alight with amusement. "We're going out tonight, just you and me. I mean, we can't consider ourselves a couple if we don't go on a proper date. Wouldn't you agree?"

Now half-conscious of the blond's proposition, the older man nodded slowly while nevertheless feeling anticipation course through his veins. "Where would you like to go?"

Taking a seat in front of the Italian, the Northerner began to cut his French toast. "I was thinking of bringing you to the Biodome first, and then we could go see a show at the Planetarium, since they're in such close proximity to each other. We've been to both the Insectarium and Botanical Gardens, so it only makes sense that we pay a visit to the remaining components of _Espace pour la vie Montréal_."

"…That sounds like fun," came Lovino's simple comment.

In the middle of drenching his dish in maple syrup, the Canadian looked up. "You know… we'll have both places entirely to ourselves. Except for this one-night event called ' _Nuit Blanche Montréal'_ , both of these museums are only open to the public during the day. I wouldn't bring you if it wasn't worth it, 'cause believe me: seeing these places after visiting hours is an amazing experience. The various species of animals at the Biodome behave differently at night, and the stars and galaxies at the Planetarium seem that much brighter." He smiled at the brunet, feeling giddy. "Being a nation does come with its perks, eh?"

" _Si_. It does." Did Canada honestly think that going to a museum to learn about space or whatever – he had been too distracted by the way the Arctic nation's lips moved to really pay attention – was an appropriate choice for a first date? _Dio_ , what in the world had France taught him? After the mind-blowing kiss he had just received, this was slightly disappointing.

He put his current train of thought to a halt once he noticed Matthew picking at his cuticles nervously.

"Y-you see…uhm…"

Ah yes. He had missed this stuttering, bashful side of the Canadian. He internally chuckled at how confident and straight-forward the blond had been but moments before, and at how hesitant he was now after his short bout of dominance when he had kissed the Italian.

"Well, I really feel like I can do anything with you. I've always thought that way. I want to show you all of me, and a place like the Biodome gives you a glimpse of the natural landscapes that can be seen here in Quebec and in other parts of the Americas. I know that's probably not enough right now, but I'd really like to bring you to every single place in Canada, in every single province and territory, whether it be a big city like Edmonton, Alberta or a small town like Nipawin, Saskatchewan." Amethyst eyes earnest, he held Romano's gaze. "And I really hope that someday, you could show me your country. I want to know every last detail about you. I'd like to meet your citizens, visit your farmlands, walk in your cities, climb your mountains… everything. Good or bad, I want to see and explore every last inch of you. And…" He looked away. "I'm sorry if it took me more than a century to realize that. But, if it could make up for lost time, I'd love to spend the next century, and the centuries after that with you. That is, if you don't mind having me." He rubbed his arm in sudden self-consciousness, his lips twitching in a boyish, embarrassed smirk.

Stunned by such blunt honesty, this date now seemed like the best idea he had ever had the chance to hear. The single, unique thing that could render this day any more perfect would be to get a heartfelt 'I love you' from Canada. Though, that could come later; Lovino was plenty content with what he had now. Either way, what his _tesoro_ had just admitted was as close to a confession as he had ever hoped to get from the normally reserved Canadian.

"I would be more than happy to show you Italy. Even the North of it." He felt like saying so much more than those two meager sentences, yet it seemed like words had abandoned him as all coherent thought had flown out of the window of his mind. Instead, he chose to express his current overflow of feelings by drawing the Canadian to yet another heated kiss.

Taking advantage of the blond's current timidity, the Southern nation finished with his lips to then shower Matthew's face with tender kisses while slyly inhaling the sweet, yet fresh scent of the Canadian's hair and skin. The latter smelt like fields of tall grass, mountain air, and the sea, with whispers of maple here and there. It was simply intoxicating.

It was simply Canada.

 _Dio_ … Matthew was his now. All his. The knowledge made his spine tingle and his insides melt like chocolate under the sun. It was still so hard to believe: how from one day to the next, the North American had returned his feelings. Absolutely surreal.

"Lovi… you could let go of me now. I've gotta clean the dishes and you're still not done eating. You wouldn't want the French toast to get too cold now would you?" The younger country chuckled lowly.

Romano kept himself from pouting, to instead nod obediently as he finished his breakfast. He'd have more time for… loving, intimate actions… later. For now, he savoured the taste of Matthew's cooking, loving how his host had put just enough cinnamon to balance off the combined sweetness of the brown sugar, vanilla and recently added maple syrup.

Eyeing the Southern country for a moment, Canada turned away to head towards the sink where a small pile of dishes was waiting for him. Under his cool exterior and false bravado, he was currently sick with worry, bitter thoughts attacking his mind like a poison. If the Italian was only after his looks – or worse, his land – Matthew would probably never be able to trust anyone with his heart again. He hoped the older man genuinely loved him like he kept saying he did. If such was not the case, he would play Lovino's little game… for now. Besides, it was easy for the Canadian to fake a smile; he had been doing it for so long. At meetings, he feigned indifference and innocence all the time, hid behind a mask just to make it seem like everything was fine. His act fooled many, too. If he played his cards just right, Romano would probably believe it as well, believe the false confidence he was capable of putting on.

He hated thinking like this, hated how his mind just took over his feelings the way it did. He loved Lovino. He did – now that he had fully acknowledged it. He truly trusted him, too – always had. In fact, in the last week alone, the European had been there for him, had listened to him and had been a shoulder to cry on at his lowest moments. Yet, on the off chance that it had simply all been an illusion, he refused to let himself be hurt again, to be stripped of the little faith he had left that someone could one day make him feel alive again. It had become his mind's job to keep his emotions in check and away from harm's way. Too many times, others had given him false hope. He was starting to get real tired of the unkept promises, the broken appointments to come back for him, the whispers of false love and affection he still so desperately sought to this day…

The cold hard truth was this: no one could ever actually love the dull, icy wasteland that was Canada.

Right?

Or at least, that was what his past had taught him.

Hopefully, South Italy would see through this automatic defense mechanism of his, and teach the North American how to open up to others once more. Matthew only knew how much more he could take before completely loosing himself to his doubts and uncertainties.

* * *

After having surfed the Internet for over half an hour, Lovino shut his laptop with a downhearted sigh. He had been searching for potential restaurants he could bring the blond to. Yet, he had reasoned that no matter what he chose, it would never suffice in surprising his _angelo_. They were in Canada, after all; it seemed pointless to want to invite the Canadian somewhere in his own country.

However, he supposed preparing a home cooked meal would be a good idea. Remembering what the younger man had said earlier about wanting to visit his land, the Mediterranean reasoned he could always bring Italy to Matthew.

With renewed vigor, Romano started to jot down a list of possible ideas. If the North American could bring him on a date, then the least he could do would be to assure that they went to said date on a full stomach.

* * *

"Lovino… may I ask what you're doing with that wooden spoon?"

The Italian froze on the spot, unsure of what to do. Matthew sounded perfectly calm but the slight irritation lacing his voice was unmistakable. Not bothering to turn and face the Canadian – lest he see the look of reproach he was sure the blond was giving him – he continued to stir the large pot of tomato sauce that was lightly simmering on the stove. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm cooking." He had meant to sound indifferent, yet the feeling of Matthew judging him from behind put him on edge. "I don't understand what the big deal is. Am I not allowed to make pasta sauce when I please? I thought Canada was a free country." He finally allowed himself to whirl around, getting defensive for a reason he, himself, did not understand. It was just, all he had wanted to do was surprise his _angelo_ with his – admittedly, five-star quality – cooking skills. The Canadian's simple question made him feel like he was doing something incredibly wrong.

From the entrance of the kitchen, the North American sighed. "It's not that Lovi. I just have this personal rule concerning my guests cooking. I mean, I'm your host. It's my job to take care of you. I already let you make me _tourtière_ and those Nanaimo bars. Not to mention that time I went to Ottawa and left you to your own devices for a whole day…" he trailed off.

Romano turned off the stove, taking his time before speaking again. "You know… you don't have to lie about that anymore. The thing about Ottawa. I already know you went to go see your brother that day."

"…What?" the blond squeaked. "How do you know about that?"

Letting a long, loud breath evacuate through his nose, South Italy crossed his arms. "America told me, of course. He told me a lot of stuff about you. He loves you a lot, you know. There's no one he trusts more than you. All he wants is your happiness, but you keep worrying him. Hell, even I'm always worried about you. You're like a ticking time bomb. You don't think I see it, but I know more about you than you think."

"So Al knows that we're…" For now, he preferred not commenting on the second half of what Lovino had just said.

"Together. Yeah, he knows. He's actually the one who helped me finally admit my feelings for you. If it wasn't for him, it would have probably taken me an extra century to spit it out on my own."

Understanding finally dawning on him, Canada fished his phone out of his jeans pocket. "So that's why Alfie sent me that weird text yesterday…"

Brows furrowing, the European approached the other man. "What text?"

"This one." The blond showed him what was on the screen.

As he read, the brunet gulped audibly.

Yeah. Alfred had definitely written that.

"Anyways, I meant what I said before; stop cooking. We're going out tonight. So all I want is for you to relax and leave everything up to me, m'kay?" He stuffed his smart phone back into his pocket. "Since you already made the sauce, we could have pasta tomorrow or something. Agreed?"

Not without rolling his eyes, he relented. "Fine."

Smirking, Canada took the other nation into his arms. " _Merci bien, mon cher_." He then walked away to put the pot of sauce in the fridge. "By the way, why did you feel like cooking? It's just… I see making pasta at random hours as more of a Feliciano thing to do."

The Mediterranean snorted at the mere mention of his younger sibling. "Oi. Just because it seems like the single word in Feli's vocabulary is the word 'pasta', it doesn't mean that I don't eat it just as much as he does." Caramel eyes now fixed on the ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor, he continued softly. "Besides… I wanted to surprise you. You said before that you wished to discover my country, right? Well, I figured I could bring a small part of it to you through my food. Everyone, even my brother, always says that my tomato sauce is the best in the world and that nothing compares to it. So…" He now spoke barely above a whisper. "I thought it'd be a good way to impress you." While trying to supress the redness on his neck from spreading to his cheeks and ears, he had not seen Matthew make his way back towards him until the latter's arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Sighing contentedly in the North American's tender embrace and no longer caring about how visible his blush was, Romano simply closed his eyes.

As the Mediterranean progressively relaxed against his chest, Canada stared at the back of his head. 'I shouldn't be so hard on him. Maybe Lovi is sincere about his feelings. Maybe he really does love me back…. Or maybe he's just a really good actor. That's probably it. I mean come on… no one loves boring, invisible ol' Matthew Williams. No one ever has,' he thought bitterly, not noticing how he was currently pressing the Italian closer to his person, as if the latter were a lifeline.

From his position in the Canadian's arms, South Italy made not a peep as he let himself be squeezed, his lungs trying in vain to force their expansion within the walls of his thoracic cage. He was well aware of the fact that a long road lay ahead of him; Matthew's insecurities – because he could tell that his _angelo_ remained skeptical – would have to be silenced before the Northerner would be capable of giving himself to another.

From what Romano knew so far, it would take some time before Canada completely accepted him.

However, the end result would certainly be worth the wait. It was Lovino's genuine conviction.

* * *

"Okay so I'm giving you an alternative here. Would you prefer sushi, or Greek food? Or maybe some Chinese take-out? We can have a sit-down meal or order it to-go. You choose, Lovi."

They were currently sitting on the living room couch, Matthew browsing through channels with Romano's head on his lap, the latter's legs draped lazily over an armrest.

"Uhm…" The European scratched his cheek, unsure of what to answer. He supposed Greek was the best option since that was the culture he was most familiar with; but at the same time, the other choices were tempting. "Surprise me," he answered at last.

Eyeing the brunet for a moment, Canada shrugged before finally settling on the sports channel. "Alright… do you want it for here or?"

"I don't mind. Whatever's less of an inconvenience for you," was the immediate response.

That got Matthew smiling. "Hmm... Well, there's this little Greek restaurant about five minutes away by car. They serve some amazing gyro pita sandwiches, and everything always tastes so fresh. I love it there. I don't know where they buy their produce, but even in the dead of winter, the tomatoes they include in their dishes are of exceptional quality. I mean, considering your love for that particular fruit and all, I'm sure you'll be pleased by the food," he rambled on, unaware of the adoring look Romano was currently sending his way.

"Sounds perfect, _tesoro mio_. I'm paying though, and that's final. I don't want to hear any form of protest come out of that pretty mouth of yours."

The nickname catching him off guard for a moment, still not used to being referred as such, all the Canadian could do was blink down in surprise.

Internally chuckling from the lack of response, the Italian raised an arm to tuck a piece of stray hair behind the blond's ear. "Do you know if they have baklava by any chance? If they do, have you ever tried it?"

"… No. I don't believe I have, but the name rings a bell. I'm fairly sure they serve it for dessert." He shifted his gaze back to the TV, secretly peeved at Lovino's apparent need to spend money on him; it was quite unnecessary.

"Good. I'll treat you to some baklava if they have some. Heracles made me try a fresh batch of the pastry this one time at his place…. Now, I eat it at every chance I get." He faked a yawn while dismissing his last words with a wave of a hand; his pride prevented him from directly complimenting the Greek nation.

The Canadian simply nodded in response, his previous annoyance melting away at seeing the quiet contentment shining in the Italian's eyes despite the latter's mask of indifference.

The offhanded way the brunet had spoken about Greece was interesting however. He had noticed how Romano hardly ever complimented other nations as opposed to Canada. In fact, the Mediterranean, despite his awkwardness, made the blond feel especially special.

To the Northerner's utmost satisfaction, that simple ascertainment gave him confidence concerning Lovino's true intentions. The protective walls his mind had erected were slowly but surely starting to crumble.

As time progressed, it would only be too long before the older man won over not only Matthew's heart and soul, but his mind and body as well.

* * *

"See. That's the thing with eating Greek food. The tzatziki makes your breath smell like shit."

They exited the restaurant with satisfied stomachs, a small box of fresh baklava in the North American's hands.

"That's a bit extreme… but you're sorta right. It's because of the garlic that's inside. Either way, that gyro dish was so worth it, and you can't say that your souvlaki wasn't tasty." Canada paused, contemplative for a moment. "You know what? We should visit Greece one day. I've only ever been there for meetings, so I've never really gotten the time to sightsee. To my knowledge, Heracles and I don't have anything against each other, so maybe we could get him to show us his major cities and other hotspots. Wouldn't that be fun?"

From the excited way Matthew spoke, Lovino knew that saying 'no' would be futile – not that he could ever say 'no' to him in the first place. "Yeah. I guess I could have a talk with him about it. I'm not making any promises though." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and picked up the pace, slightly nettled by the blond's eager tone. Had the younger nation already moved on from wanting to travel to Italy? He hoped not.

Noticing the change in attitude, the blond walked faster to catch up to the irritable nation. "Anyways, how 'bout I drive us home so we could freshen up and allow ourselves to digest before going on our date? I've been looking forward to it all day you know." His cheery demeanor masked his confusion as to what had caused Romano's current behaviour.

Said Italian stopped in his tracks. "You have?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Matthew answered honestly, "Of course I have. I love spending time with you regardless of what we're doing, but bringing you all over the city is especially fun." He smiled warmly.

The Southern nation simply nodded back, secretly over the moon.

Quietly, they resumed their walk towards the Canadian's sedan, the Italian slyly wrapping his gloved fingers around his _tesoro_ 's exposed hand.

* * *

" _Bienvenue au Biodôme_ , Lovi." He gestured towards the dome shaped infrastructure. "This place is the former Velodrome from the 1976 Summer Games. That's why you see the Olympic Stadium not too far behind. And right nearby, over there to our right," he pointed to a building with two large cylindrical shaped towers protruding from it, "is the Rio Tinto Alcan Planetarium. Those two shiny dome-like cylinders you see are theaters. We'll be seeing a show in one of them later tonight."

Romano gazed at both buildings, glad that he had agreed to the date idea. Without even realizing it, a small smile found its way to his lips.

"Anyways, how 'bout we start our tour of the Biodome?" The Canadian lightly nudged his companion's shoulder.

Snapping out of his silent contemplation, South Italy turned to the blond at his side. "Sure. Let's get going."

* * *

Once through the PVC doors leading to the first module, the Canadian spoke. "Alright, first thing's first, I'll explain what we're going to be seeing today. You see, the Biodome presents five different ecosystems found in the Americas. The first is the 'Tropical Rainforest'. Oh, and as we go along, I'll introduce you to the various species of animals and plants we have here. Sound good?"

"Wait… what? Animals? I thought you said this place was all about landscapes." His caramel eyes widened comically.

Canada simply chuckled. "What do you think 'bio' in the name 'Biodome' means? As far as I'm concerned, the biosphere consists of any living organism found on our planet and their environment. That includes animals." He tapped his chin, mildly puzzled. "It's funny; I thought I'd mentioned the fact that this place is basically an indoor zoo – but better." Without warning, he latched onto the brunet's arms. "Oh well." He proceeded to pull the older man towards the first exhibit, laughing at the older nation's confounded expression.

* * *

"What the hell is that!? It looks like a ginormous hamster," exclaimed South Italy halfway through the path.

"Actually, you're not too far off. It's called a capybara, and it is a rodent. The largest in the world, as a matter of fact," Matthew explained while chuckling. "They're found in South America. Well… everything you see here is a tribute to the rainforests found in South America. Just like what we saw at the Botanical Gardens, this specific exhibition serves as a reminder of how vulnerable these forests are, and how they're shrinking at an alarming rate all over the world. The specialists here work hard in order to ensure awareness and protect these amazing creatures. It's sad, but many of the animals here are endangered. I know I tend to repeat myself a lot with how important nature is to me and the like, but I do represent a country. And although there are some aspects of my country that I deeply dislike and regret, this natural science museum complex – Space for Life – is something that truly makes me proud of my citizens. The research conducted here and their efforts at conservation restore my faith in humanity. It makes me believe that the world we live in is not completely going downhill, and it's satisfying to know that." He looked up as a flock of brightly colored birds flew by.

The Latin nation followed his companion's gaze. "What the…? What are those?"

Smiling, Canada turned toward his interlocutor. "Those, my dear Lovi, are hyacinth macaws. They're extremely endangered. A lot of people like them as pets, so they're illegally captured for the purpose of this trade. If they don't become extinct from a lack of habitat, they will because of that." He shook his head. "Humans really piss me off sometimes. But at the same time, I sympathize with them. Most trappers just want to be able to feed their families. I just wish they could find better ways to make a living."

Romano listened intently; it was a rarity for Matthew to express his opinionative thoughts so openly. He hoped they could have more moments like these, where they could simply share what they had on their minds without any fear of judgement from the other.

Once the Canadian had quieted down and was calmly leaning on the metal handrail overlooking the American crocodile and yacare caiman joint habitat, Lovino hugged him from behind while whispering in his ear, "You know… you're such a wonderful person Matthew."

"You think so?" came the lazy, yet slightly unconvinced reply.

"W-what? Are you kidding? You're… you're perfect, and I've always thought that way about you. Since the first time I formally met you, I knew you were going to change my outlived existence." From the Canadian's lack of reaction, Romano persevered despite how embarrassed it made him feel to say such things. "That day I saw you… the smile on your face. I knew my citizens were going to be okay. You have no idea how scared I was for them. So many of them were simple farmers. They had gone through so much shit. I remember in WWII… how so many of my people were starving. I just… I hated feeling so helpless. The worst part was that all over Europe, people were suffering, not just my own. When the war finally came to its end, I was so relieved, especially when that bastard Mussolini died…." Unwilling to continue, he buried his face in the crook of the Canadian's neck. He flinched when a warm hand patted his head. Looking up, he met his darling's concerned, yet mirthful lavender eyes.

"I remember that formal meeting. You, in particular, really stood out with how much you swore." He chuckled quietly, practically feeling Romano roll his eyes behind him. "You used to swear so much. In fact, practically every one of your sentences contained a curse word. I noticed that since you got here, you've toned it down considerably. It kinda took me aback at first, but I decided not to say too much on the subject."

Blushing, Lovino admitted, "…Well. You're so polite, that I thought I had a better chance with you if I was less of a… you know… vulgar hothead."

With a small smile, the Canadian decided to stop tormenting the European, lest the older man turn into a tomato from how red he had become. "Let's keep going. Next up is the piranha tank, and after that is the bat cave. Since bats are nocturnal creatures, we'll get to see them in action. On the way there, I'll show you the poison dart frogs. You don't ever want to mess with those; one touch and they could temporarily kill a nation. Believe me, Alfred was stupid enough to try it this one time when we went to visit Bolivia. Even with his superhuman strength, he stayed paralysed for days. It's probably because of said strength that he didn't die in the first place."

The Mediterranean was unable to stop himself from laughing while imagining the scene. "That's hilarious. I gotta see these frogs."

Pleased by how smoothly he had moderated the rather uncomfortable moment from before, Canada began to walk away, South Italy following suit.

* * *

"Those piranhas could definitely give Feli nightmares for weeks. Remind me to never ever piss Brazil or Venezuela off. Or any South American country for that matter." He slightly grimaced.

Smiling warmly, the blond waved him off. "Nah. They're nice nations when you get to know them. Well, at least, most of them are. There are some I'm not as familiar with yet." They then passed through another set of PVC strip curtains. "Anyways, allow me to introduce you to the second ecosystem of the night: the 'Laurentian Maple Forest'." He then stood in place for a moment, hands on hips while relishing the scent of conifers and fir trees, before speaking once more, "It gives you a glimpse of the forests found here in Quebec. The landscape you see is mostly inspired by the _La Mauricie_ National Park, amongst other regions of the province."

The Italian stayed silent, enjoying the small reproduction of Canada's vast natural expanses. Walking past the blond who remained motionless, he soon spotted two large lumps high up in one of the many leafless trees. He turned back to the younger country. "Are those porcupines?"

"Yep. But they're different from the ones found in your part of the world. These ones, known as North American porcupines, are smaller and can climb trees, where they spend most of their time," he explained while approaching the brunet.

The older man hummed in understanding before moving on, his back to the other nation. "I like the scenery this place offers. How it represents a part of Canada. Represents a part of you…. You really are a masterpiece." His whisper combined marvel and subtle reverence.

Unbeknownst to him, the North American had been too busy smiling down at a family of otters to hear any of his words.

* * *

"Is that a cat?" The older man squinted. "It sure looks like one. I suspect it's some type of wildcat…"

The pair had decided to play a guessing game, with the Italian doing all the guessing while the Canadian provided the answers.

"Close, but no cigar my dear Lovino. That's a Canada lynx. They're native to North America, and are mostly found in the northern forests of Canada and Alaska. They don't generally like being around people, but it's nice that they came to greet us. Aren't they precious?" he practically purred.

His dark eyebrows slightly raised, the Southern nation answered, "Uhm… _Si_. I guess. The young one is pretty cute."

Chuckling, the personification of the True North turned to his Italian counterpart. "You know… you don't have to be afraid of saying the truth. Not with me. I could tell just by the look in your eyes that you absolutely love them."

Abashed, he relented. "Okay, fine. They're magnificent. And I wish I could just give the kitten a cookie or something because of how damn adorable it is," he finished with a huff. "Happy?"

Choosing not to comment, Matthew slowly walked away. A grin nevertheless bloomed on his face; Lovino was such a softy under that harsh exterior of his.

That fact alone further amplified the shaking of his already weakened mental walls of protection.

* * *

A world of blue was the first thing they saw once they entered the third exhibit.

His skin akin to an ocean glow, the Canadian spoke. "This is the 'Gulf of St. Lawrence' ecosystem. _Le fleuve Saint-Laurent_ , or the St. Lawrence River in English, links the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean and is rich with life. Well… not as much as before. It's gotten pretty polluted over the years. Anyways, to get back to what I was saying, this freshwater river is one of the longest in the world and has been used for trade ever since I can remember."

"Yeah, I'm sure I heard France talking about it to Spain this one time. He had just discovered you if I remember correctly." Once he turned to face the Canadian, he knew he had hit a sore spot from seeing his nostalgic expression.

"He used to talk about me to his friends?" A faint glimmer of hope could be seen in those otherwise mournful amethyst eyes. "Do you…." He looked down at his boot-clad feet before mumbling, "Would he say nice things about me?"

Mentally punching himself, the European nevertheless answered honestly. "I'm sorry, but that's all I could remember. I mean, Francis is such a creepy, perverted bastard that I avoid him at all costs." Quickly realizing the wrongness of what he had just said, he squeezed his eyes shut in a short moment of self-loathing while physically smacking his forehead; _gran Madre di Dio_ , why had he admitted that last part out loud?

"I see..." What was meant to be a reassuring smile turned out as more of a grimace on the Northerner's face. "Don't berate yourself, Lovi. I appreciate your straightforwardness. That's probably one of the things I like most about you," he added truthfully.

Not wanting to add any more fuel to the fire, Romano did what his heart dictated at that moment and brought the caramel-blond into a comforting kiss. Feeling the Canadian's hands clutch at his jacket in what South Italy assumed was a silent request for more affection, he started rubbing large, lazy circles on his _angelo_ 's back.

Under the soft cerulean hue of the salty aquarium waters, they stayed that way for a moment simply basking in each other's warmth, an array of fish native to the Saint Lawrence Estuary all the while swimming around them behind the thick glass walls.

* * *

"Finally, let me present you to the two last ecosystems: the 'Labrador Coast' and the 'Sub-Antarctic Islands'. Together, they form what is called here at the Biodome, the 'Sub-Polar Regions'. Tell me something, Lovi; have you ever seen penguins up close?" The previous sadness had dissipated after the much needed lip-lock, leaving him as cheerful as he had been at the start of the tour.

"No. The closest to one I've ever seen is Iceland's puffin."

"Well, that's about to change. Actually, it's funny that you mention Emil; the Atlantic puffin is one of the sixty-something different alcids we'll get to see in the 'Labrador Coast' section. In the one after that, the 'Sub-Antarctic Islands', we'll get to see birds from the penguin family, most having come straight from Antarctica."

"Alcids? What are those?"

"Hmm… well, you see all of these animals? If you look closely, you'll notice that all of them have webbed-feet and are amazing divers despite having wings. To put it simply, they're part of the alcid family which is different from the penguin family; all alcids except the great auk can fly, whereas penguins and the like are flightless."

Nodding briefly, the Mediterranean looked around at the creatures on the other side of the glass walls. Most were swimming, others waddling about. Despite wanting to stay focused on the short birds currently in his line of vision, he found himself deep in thought. Ultimately, he had to admit this much: he had never seen anything quite like the Biodome. Sure, he had been to zoos before, but never a place like this. It was an interesting experience to be able to see so many species all under one roof, and it was all thanks to Matthew.

Said man, noticing the brunet's moment of inattention, lightly poked the Southerner's tanned cheek. "Lovi? You in there?" He chuckled behind his hand.

Blinking up at the blond's gleeful expression, the older nation waved it off. "Don't worry about it. Anyways, we could move on to the next part. I'm done looking at everything there was to see here." He darted his eyes around the room once more. "Before I forget, I'd like to properly thank you for bringing me here. It's been a fun night so far. Definitely special enough for me to remember for years."

Touched, the edges of the North American's lips slowly curled up. "Actually, I'm the grateful one here. It's because of you that I'm enjoying myself the way I am."

Frowning, he studied the Canadian's face. "But what about that thing I said about Fra–"

"Hush," the younger man interrupted. "No harm done. All that is in the past, and it's my fault for not having gotten over it yet. In time, I'll forget all about it, so you could stop fretting over something so trivial."

The furrow between the Italian's brows only deepened. "Are you telling me…" He suddenly stalked forward, quickly trapping the surprised Northerner between the glass and his body, both of his hands on either side of his face. " _Oi_. When will you get it through that thick skull of yours that I  love you! Nothing, and I mean nothing, about you is unimportant to me." He kept his voice at a harsh whisper, because anything louder than that would get him screaming at the top of his lungs. "You have no idea how much you piss me off when you tell me to stop worrying over something. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna find myself agonizing over the smallest things, the littlest details. All because it concerns you. So stop telling me that everything's okay when clearly, it's not. I know you too damn well to be fooled by your acting talents." His heartbeat had quickened, his breath intermingling with the Canadian's own from their close proximity to each other.

Slowly, Lovino let his hands slide down the glass, paying no mind to the king eiders that were now openly watching him and Matthew from behind the clear wall of their habitat. He then let his head fall gently against Canada's shoulder while heaving a sigh. "Forgive me. I'm just a little unsettled. All I want is for you to know that you could always talk to me. I'm not the best at giving advice… actually, I suck pretty bad at it, but at least I'll listen. You don't have to deal with your problems alone anymore, because… well… you could always share them with me."

A ghost of a smile had appeared on Matthew's face during the brunet's heartfelt admission.

Yep. His mental barriers had never even stood a chance against the wildfire of passion and unequivocal devotion that was Lovino Vargas.

* * *

"I have a surprise for you, Lovi." He made an effort to stay as stoic as possible, not wanting to spoil anything.

The duo had now stepped foot in the last ecosystem of the night. Rockhopper penguins could be seen splashing away in the water basin of their habitat.

The Southern Italian raised a brow. "What kind of surprise?" He then bent down, coming eye to eye with a large male king penguin. When he pressed his hand to the glass in greeting only to see the animal waddle away, he crossed his arms in a huff. "Jerk penguin!"

Amused by the older nation's antics, Matthew crouched down next to him. "I'll show you once we're done here". He added a quick peck of his lips to the other's cheek.

Fighting a blush, Romano promptly got up. "In that case, I guess we're finished here. No offense, but I don't think penguins are really my thing." He brushed himself off while lending a helping hand towards the blond, which the latter gladly took.

"None taken. You can't like everything in life. I mean, there are bound to be things you dislike." Still holding hands, the Canadian motioned towards the exit with a toss of his head. "Follow me."

* * *

High-pitched mewls reached their ears as they approached the room, the smile on Canada's face growing with each step they took.

A middle-aged woman – probably a veterinarian, Romano mused – warmly welcomed them once they had passed the doorway. The Italian allowed his eyes to dart around the dimly lit room before they immediately settled on the small kitten gnawing at its mother's tail, the latter sagely laying down yet keenly observing him and the blond nation by his side.

Said blond then cleared his throat, gaining Lovino's attention despite how hushed it had sounded. "In between your flossing and aggressive, tzatziki-eliminating teeth brushing back at my place, I made a quick call to request this. The lynx baby you see is only around ten weeks old. In a few months, it'll be separated from its mother to be adopted by the Toronto zoo, where I trust it'll be further cared for. I thought maybe you'd like to meet the little cutie up close before we move on to explore the stars and galaxies at the Planetarium. Based on your reaction from before, I assume I made the right decision," he admitted shyly, rubbing the back of his neck while nevertheless holding the European's surprised gaze.

Feeling a tender warmth bloom in his chest, the brunet smirked. "Yes, you did. You really did." He then turned to the woman, who had kept quiet since her greeting. "May I?" He gestured towards the felines.

"Of course. But just bear in mind that they're carnivorous, okay? We wouldn't want you loosing a finger now would we?" She smiled pleasantly.

"True," came his simple answer before walking forward, Matthew's hand secured in his.

As they neared the wild animals, the kitten ceased what it had been doing previously and bounded up to them. When they crouched down, it immediately purred and playfully pawed at the Canadian's knees.

Keeping close watch of the mother, Canada picked up the cub and began stroking the soft fur on its back. Feeling the silent eagerness practically radiating off of the Mediterranean, the Arctic nation gently handed the kitten over to the other's awaiting hands.

The larger cat, having watched the exchange, immediately got up to then nuzzle the Canadian, to the latter's astonishment – lynx were rarely known for approaching humans on their own accord.

"You know… I'm starting to think that your brother was right; animals know we're different. Clearly, they like you a lot Matthew." He chuckled good-naturedly. "Look, the little one is practically wrestling in my arms to get to you."

Indeed, the cub was wriggling in the Italian's grip.

Calmly, the European set it down to then quietly sit back, and watch as both felines practically assaulted Canada with gentle licks and rubs of the head.

Giggling despite himself, the North American agreed, "I've always had a hunch that animals perceived us as more than mere humans, but I was never fully sure until now." He then looked down at the cub chewing on his boot laces to lightly reproach, "Lovino here's a nation too. Why don't you go see him?"

Big blue cat eyes shifted to stare straight up at South Italy for a moment, before the energetic kitten turned back to instead pounce on Matthew's chest, almost sending the Canadian reeling backwards.

Chuckling softly, Romano patted his _angelo_ 's arm. "They live on your lands, not on mine. I'm probably just a complete stranger to them."

As he scratched behind the mother's ears after he had deposited the small ball of fur back on the ground, the blond softly admitted, "Maybe." He paused for a moment before asking, "Would you like to feed them? They've already been fed for the day, but I'm sure a little treat wouldn't hurt. Right Maggie?" He turned to the woman, who had been peacefully watching the interaction from her position near the door.

The veterinarian smiled kindly at them, eyes crinkling with age. "Hmm… I don't know Mister Williams. They're both on a pretty strict diet at the moment," she started in mock seriousness, trying not to laugh at the visible disappointment both men were trying to mask. "But I suppose I could allow it just this once." She pulled a small packet from her lab coat pocket. "Here. Give them this."

Canada hastily got up. "Thank you." He gratefully accepted the package while scratching the area where the ends of his hair tickled at his nape. "You had me fooled there for a sec."

The animal doctor giggled while waving him off. "Don't be silly Mattie dear. I could never say no to you no matter how hard I try."

'Welcome to the club,' thought Romano distractedly, now sitting on the floor by the lynx. He looked up when Matthew's cold finger poked his cheek a moment later. "What's inside?" He gestured to the box with his head.

"Mice." Seeing the grimace starting to appear on the older man's face, the Canadian quickly clarified. "They're already dead, and they still have their fur and everything, nothing bloody." He proceeded to give the two rodents that were inside to the brunet. "How about you feed them tonight? You said before that you wanted to give this cutie over here," he patted the small lynx's head, "a cookie, right? Sadly, sweets aren't exactly healthy for a lynx, but a mouse is the next best thing."

Without hesitation, the tanned nation accepted the offering. Almost immediately, he felt both felines at his side, the smaller one tugging at his sleeve with its still-growing teeth while the elder waited patiently. "How am I supposed to go about this? Do I just hold it in my hand, or?" He looked to the woman for answers.

Repressing a laugh, she approached him. "So you're South Italy, eh? Let me just say that I'm impressed; not everyone can just sit calmly by a pair of lynx the way you have, never mind feed them. With that said… you must certainly keep little Canada over here constantly on his toes with that spunk of yours…" she smiled, mischief clearly present in her eyes. She then loudly laughed once both nations wore matching blushes.

"M-Maggie!" was all the Canadian could manage to blurt in defence.

Laughing harder, she waved her nation off, and spoke once more to the brunet who was avoiding her gaze. "Oh, don't mind me. I just like to tease Mister Williams every chance I get. You know, he's quite the gifted teacher. It is he who taught me practically everything I know about animals. We Canadians are pretty fortunate to have such a caring personification… not to mention how undeniably handsome he is, right Mister South Italy?" Her smile widened exponentially at seeing the Italian nation nod timidly, before she suddenly adopted a professional demeanor. "All pleasantries aside, here's how you feed them. First, you have to…."

* * *

Waving goodbye to the veterinarian after both lynx had been transferred back into their habitat, the pair of personified countries showed themselves out.

As they set foot outside, snow falling gently from the starless Montreal sky, they headed towards their next destination.

"You and her seem close…" Lovino decided to break the comfortable silence in which they had been walking in, curious about their – at least, that was what it seemed like – friendly relationship.

The blond looked at the older man from the corner of his eye. "You mean Maggie?" Seeing a slight nod from the brunet, he resumed. "Yeah… Maggie McArthur – that's her married name – is one of those really hard working people that only wants the best for everyone. She's been through a lot. Her and her husband had identical twin boys together…. They'd be turning twenty-three right about now."

"What happened to them? You're talking as if …" The Italian's caramel eyes filled with sympathy as he watched the blond at his side.

The Canadian hesitated for a moment, but resumed. "Dylan and Joshua, those were their names… got into street racing. They liked the thrill of danger, and the high that came with speeding I guess. One night, during one of their races… their vehicle violently veered off the road when it hit a nasty patch of black ice…. They died on impact when the car collided head-on with a street lamp. In a little less than two weeks from now, it's going to be two years since that day." He sighed, looking off into the distance. "Anyways, I've known Maggie for a while now, since she was just a kid actually. The reason she knows about us is because she's the daughter of one of my ex-governor generals. She's really good at what she does. Treats every single creature under her care as if they were the most precious thing in the world. Her and I were present for the lynx kitten's birth ten weeks ago, you know. It was the happiest I've seen her since her sons passed away…"

Lovino said nothing, choosing instead to entwine his fingers with Matthew's trembling ones in silent consolation.

"… They reminded me a lot of Alfred and myself from how close they were. They kinda looked like us too. They both had their mother's eyes. A deep piercing blue that captivated you when you least expected it. They were both on their way to accomplishing great things… but that one mistake cost them their lives." He stayed quiet for a moment, before asking in a whisper, "Tell me Lovino, I know it's sort of changing the subject but… do you think it's a curse to be what we are? To be nations? Beings that live through decades upon decades, yet hardly even age a year? Living entities that have seen death and all its friends countless times, but could never truly experience it for themselves?" He stopped walking at this point, waiting for an honest answer.

The Latin nation looked straight ahead, pensive. "I believe that everything in life has both positive and negative aspects. It depends on how you interpret it. To answer your question, I think nationhood is both a curse and a blessing. I'll admit that I'm a pretty pessimistic person, so I mostly see things in a negative light. But not always. I'd be lying if I said that the prospect of being with you forever was bad. Because… well, it's not. That idea makes me so happy that I find myself smiling like an idiot whenever I think about it." He bit his bottom lip. "Immortality has only been good to me now that I've found the right person to spend it with. Someone that'll be able to live all the years ahead with me."

He turned back towards the younger man at his side, the blond's pair of glimmering amethyst eyes pinning him in place like a dragonfly to a card. Romano inhaled the chilly February air deeply and forced his legs to keep moving forward, lest he become any more imprisoned by those twin purple jewels. Despite his best effort, he found himself tripping on his own feet, tumbling forward until his body lay flat on the snow covered ground.

Too shocked to speak – or do anything at all for that matter – the brunet allowed himself to cool down in the snow for a moment, before a panicking Matthew brought him back to reality.

"Oh my God Lovi! Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" The North American shook the motionless nation, surprised by the sudden fall.

Batting the hands away, South Italy got up while dusting off the tiny ice crystals from his winter apparel. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just…" He tried to supress his current mortification from sneaking its way into his voice. "You gotta stop looking at people like that. It's a damn distraction!" He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stomped up the ramp leading to the Planetarium, leaving his clueless Canadian counterpart behind.

* * *

The moment he walked inside, the grumpy Italian nearly flipped the bird at the overly cheerful host welcoming him to the museum from his place behind the information booth.

Realizing just how out of bounds he was acting, South Italy took a deep breath in order to calm down once he was far enough from the front entrance. Whilst he waited for the fluttering in his chest to cease, a melodious bell-like laughter made him turn around to see none other than that damn host from before – 'way too happy for his own good,' the Italian mused – with his arms practically wrapped around a laughing Matthew. His Matthew. As he stood there for a moment, trying to pretend the situation right before his eyes was simply an illusion, the man's hands began to subtly lower from their position on the younger nation's back. Brows furrowing dangerously, the European stalked forward towards the front counter.

Careful not to grip Canada too harshly, he ripped the blond away from the human's greedy fingers and led him away. "Wait here for a moment," he muttered to the Canadian once they were a considerable distance away, before walking back to where they had just come from.

The moment Lovino stood in front of the worker, he quickly reached forward to grasp his uniform collar, violently jerking the man towards himself. Their breaths practically intermingling from the proximity of their faces, Romano's voice was sharp in contrast to the short, shuddering breaths escaping the host's quaking lips. " _Oi_ , listen here _l'amico_. Stay away from him. He's mine. Got that?" At a brisk nod from the mortal, the Mediterranean leaned forward on the counter, elbows firmly planted on its surface. "Talk to him again and I'll send the mafia on your sorry, pathetic ass… call 'em straight from _Sicilia_ if you know what I mean." From the look of raw fear in the other man's eyes, the Latin nation knew his threat had been clearly understood. Backing away from the trembling human before him, he let go of his collar, and for good measure, threw in an – insincere – apology. " _Scusi_ about your shirt."

With renewed self-assurance and a satisfied smile – all he had wanted to do was scare the guy, never follow through with the threat – he mutely made his way back to his awaiting _angelo_.

* * *

Aware of the silently fulminating nation at his side, Canada spread his arms in quiet invitation.

Seeking solace, Romano gladly let his partner's hockey-strong arms encircle him. Grimacing at the melting snow still partly covering the Canadian's coat, he tugged the zipper down to then bury his face in Matthew's warm, pine-scented sweater.

The minute he felt the body he was pressed against quake, the Italian looked up to see a red-faced Canadian failing miserably at hiding his amusement.

"What?" The question had come out harsher than Romano had intended, thus he softened his tone for the next one, "What are you laughing at?"

Wiping a single tear from the corner of his eye before once more wrapping the Italian in a loose hug, Matthew smirked down at him. "I saw what you did back there. You're so possessive it's endearing."

Crossing his arms in a huff, Lovino frowned in return. "Well… s-so what if I am? I've been chasing after you for a long time, so when I saw what that guy was doing… I got jealous. Now you know. Happy?" He looked away, embarrassed at how childish he must have seemed at that moment. When no further comment from Matthew's part made it to his ears, he looked back up to see Canada sporting wide eyes, his lips forming a small 'o'.

"… Wait. You were actually jealous?"

Ashamed, but convincing himself to be honest, South Italy nodded slowly. "Yeah. So?"

"No, nothing. It's just… admitting stuff like that out loud is so out of norm for you Lovi. I mean, having known you for decades, you don't usually just say stuff like that. Out of everyone I'm close to, you're the one who seems the most uncomfortable when talking about your feelings…" he trailed off, eyes searching the older man's face.

Gnawing at his lower lip, the brunet lowered his face so that his bangs covered his eyes. "Do you… not like it when I talk about my feelings out loud?" Even he somewhat hated how mushy and weak (by his standards) he was becoming. To anyone else, he would have never divulged anything so personal, yet he turned into a radically different person when in Matthew's presence. Inwardly, he knew he could never lie to his Northern treasure; such was the price to pay for love, and said sacrifice did not bother him in the slightest.

Having lost himself in his thoughts, a pair of warm lips on his own brought him to full awareness once more. "What was that for?"

Matthew smiled kindly. "In all honesty, it makes me feel special that you open up to me so much. You told me before that I could always confide in you, but the same applies to you. Never be afraid to talk to me. I promise I'll do my best never to judge you. Besides, Francis always tells me how important communication is in a relationship, and I believe him."

At that last remark, South Italy seemed to contemplate something. "It's funny. That wine-bastard's done so much to hurt you, and yet you still talk about him as if he's someone to be admired."

"Well… he's my _papa_. He took care of me when I was but a tiny colony. He was the first nation to show me paternal love and kindness. I vaguely remember some of the Nordics… but they didn't stay long enough for me to become attached."

Romano sighed to then shake his head. "You're too forgiving."

Ignoring the comment, the North American tugged his date towards the theater where the show would take place. "C'mon or we'll be late."

* * *

They sat themselves down in a pair of red theater seats in the back row, Romano whistling at the 360° dome screen.

Smiling, the Canadian laid a chaste kiss on his cheek. " _Donc… comme lors de notre visite au Biodôme, j'vais l'dire ici aussi: bienvenue au Planétarium Rio Tinto Alcan mon cher Lovino. Tu sais… j'suis vraiment heureux d'être en ta compagnie en c'moment_." His face was tinged raspberry pink at the last part. Thankfully, the theater lights were gradually dimming, slowly submerging them in the darkness of the room and thus effectively hiding his blush from view.

"Uhm… can you repeat that? In English this time?" Romano's voice pierced through the darkness. From the hollowness and the lack of other people in the room, the echo that resulted made it seem like the Southern Italian was everywhere all at once.

"I just welcomed you to the Planetarium. That's all." He surprised himself by how smooth he had sounded despite the slight lie. He then leaned back in his seat, his arm subtly draping around the Italian's shoulder while thinking almost forlornly, ' _C'est fou comment, de plus en plus, j'me trouve à te vouloir constamment à mes côtés._ _En fait, je commence à perdre tous mes moyens par ta simple présence. Je sais que ça fait seulement une journée qu'on est en couple, et que peut-être je vais trop vite, mais j'ose espérer que tu sauras être ma douce moitié, mon âme sœur, mon confident. Je t'en prie Italie du Sud, ne joue pas avec mes sentiments._ _Ne sois pas comme les autres…_ '

Lovino opened his mouth to comment – the Canadian had uttered more than just a simple greeting, that much was obvious – when the start of the show cut him off. Shrugging it off for the time being, the European chose to instead let his head fall against Canada's shoulder, wedging his right arm between himself and his companion in the process.

Projected on the screen were trees, hundreds upon hundreds of them, their leaves rustling in the breeze and glowing under the moonlight as flickering fireflies swirled around. The scene then changed to the heavens above as a soft female voice began to narrate. One by one, constellations were being located and named.

South Italy chose that moment to start pointing things out, telling Matthew about the stories behind the Lyra, Perseus and Orion star configurations in Greek mythology. He did the same thing for the rest of the eighty-eight star groups, a fond glimmer in his eyes as he gestured to the alpha of each with the forefinger of his free arm.

The North American let the Italian's whispered explanations lull him into a relaxed, near-sleep state. Prior to this, he had had no idea that Lovino was knowledgeable in astronomy. He had always loved to hear Alfred go on and on about asteroid belts and galaxies and supernovae that, in part, made up the Universe, but to hear the Southern nation sitting at his side give such in-depth explanations about this particular field of the sciences came as more than a pleasant surprise.

"… I saw Halley's Comet once, the last time it approached Earth back in 1986." Unbeknownst to Romano, his words perked the blond's interest and brought the latter back to attention. "I remember that because it was a couple of months before the 13th FIFA World Cup. Even though my country didn't win the cup that year, it was special to me because 1986 was the first and only time that you, Canada, participated."

The blond covered his face with his hands. "Please, don't remind me of that. I suck so bad at soccer. My men lost every one of their games, and scored not a single goal to boot."

South Italy chuckled at his companion's muffled words to then gently prod the hands away so as to look into his _tesoro_ 's eyes. "First of all, it's football, not soccer. And second, yeah, football isn't your nation's forte, but you're definitely not talentless. Remember when your girls won bronze back in the 2012 Olympics? You could have easily won gold that time." He paused, paying attention to what was on the screen once more. "Ah, now they're talking about our solar system. Jupiter's one of my favorite planets. I remember back when Galileo discovered Io, Ganymede, Callisto, and Europa. Actually, Feliciano has this huge poster of Io orbiting around Jupiter in his room at his house in Pisa, the city where Galileo was born. It doesn't seem like it on most occasions, but Feli loves astronomy just as much as I do, astrophysics in particular. In fact, every year during the spring, he and I like to sit outside and watch meteor showers together. It's one of the rare times where he'll shut up for more than a few minutes. To see the sky more clearly, we almost always stay in my half of the country since there are less big cities that give off light pollution. It's one of the few brotherly traditions we have, and we never bring anyone else along. Though… maybe one day, he'll invite Germany and I you."

Lavender eyes blinked in disbelief and Canada found himself thinking, 'Did he just say 'Germany' instead of 'potato-bastard'? I know he's trying to be less vulgar for my sake, but still… it doesn't change how weird it is to hear.' Closing his eyes for a moment to better analyze the situation, he could feel how relaxed the Southern nation was against his body. It was almost as if all of Romano's infamous hostility had vanished to instead leave a calmer version behind, one who was more at peace with himself and the world around him. 'I've never seen him as carefree as the way he seems now. I wonder… am I the only one he's ever shown this relaxed facet of his personality to, besides maybe Veneziano?' He laid his head atop Romano's, a small hum of satisfaction slipping involuntarily through his lips.

They stayed that way for the duration of the show, Lovino continuing to point things out while telling amusing anecdotes about globular clusters and white dwarfs and whatever celestial event came to mind while Matthew sat still, hanging on to his every word and craving for more.

* * *

"You're the definition of a nebula," came Romano's simple statement.

The Canadian, who had been meticulously removing his snow-wet boots so as to prevent his socks from getting wet, paused in his actions to quirk a quizzical eyebrow. Despite his precautions, French curses suddenly made their way forth from his lips when the familiar feeling of melting snow seeping through the material and wetting his feet in an unpleasant way registered in his tired mind.

They had just entered through Matthew's front door, exhausted and both not thinking properly. The documentary, although interesting, had somehow drained them of most of their energy.

"Well… you know what a nebula is, right? They say it's the place where stars are born. A stellar nursery in other words." The brunet hung his jacket on the coat rack, ridding himself of his own boots on the same occasion.

"Okay… your point?" came the North American's slightly annoyed answer. Now free of his winter apparel, he had begun to walk – barefoot – towards the kitchen with the intention of preparing some sure-to-be-appreciated mugs of hot cocoa for himself and his guest.

"There is none. Besides the fact that a nebula is beautiful, and breathtaking… just like your eyes."

His heart palpating at an increasing rate, Canada froze, only a handful of steps shy of the kitchen. "…Jeez, you become such a sap when you're tired and drunk on stars. How 'bout you just go straight to bed and r–"

"Have you ever heard of the North America Nebula?" Romano interrupted, too deep into his short monologue to acknowledge the other's words. "It's in the Cygnus constellation. They named it that way because it looks just like North America, complete with the Gulf of Mexico and Florida and everything… except Alaska. Either way, the first thing I thought about when I saw it was you." He yawned while threading a hand through his hair, tousling it unintentionally.

Canada almost melted at the words, and found himself entranced as he stared into the Italian's golden caramel eyes, rendered a dark hazel from fatigue. Lovino's olive skin, currently tinged a raspberry pink from having just escaped the cold outside, and his short mocha locks that were disheveled in just the right way only amplified the overall effect.

The blond gulped.

"God, pretty soon I'm gonna get a heart attack with the way you're going," the Canadian muttered under his breath, his face reddening despite himself.

"Hmm? What was that? Actually, never mind. I'm probably just imagining things at this point." The Italian had just unbuttoned his dress shirt, and was now lazily making his way towards the stairs. Once halfway up, he stopped in his tracks and hesitantly turned to the North American. "Can I sleep with you in your bed tonight? You don't have to say 'yes'. I mean…if you don't want to, you could always say 'no'. I won't mind."

From his vantage point, Matthew could clearly see passed the Latin nation's act of indifference. Even though he knew that Romano was tired beyond belief and was on the verge of falling asleep from his spot on the stairs, the unease in his demeanor was evident.

'He's probably worried that I'll reject him or something,' the young nation thought to himself.

Sharing a bed with another warm body could not be considered an unpleasant experience per say, it was just that he was rather unused to it – except for when his ever faithful Kumakichi curled up at his feet of course, but that was besides the point.

Internally sighing, he nevertheless answered after a brief moment of watching the Southern Italian subtly drum his fingers on the handrail, "Sure. Give me a minute and I'll be right up." There went his plans of treating himself to some hot chocolate, and crashing on the couch to relax and maybe catch up on the hockey he had missed. Yet, when he saw a toothy grin blossom on Lovino's face as a result of his acceptance, Matthew found himself smiling back.

* * *

True to his word, the Canadian joined the Mediterranean under the covers but a moment later. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the older nation pressed up against his side, sliding an arm around the blond's waist.

"M'had fun tonight," Matthew felt rather than heard the other man mumble sleepily into his ear.

"I'm glad," was his simple response. He then felt Lovino shift closer.

" _Grazie Canada. Ti amo_."

He turned to South Italy, whose eyes were semi-closed but nevertheless staring up at the Canadian from underneath his dark lashes. Was that expectance in the Latin nation's gaze? Did Romano want him to return those words?

Oh…

The Canadian pretended the last of the other man's words had never been uttered. "You're welcome Lovi."

They stared at each other for a moment, disappointment-filled caramel eyes looking straight into apologetic indigo counterparts, before the brunet took his arm back from the Canadian's waist and turned over, his back to Matthew.

"…Yeah," were the European's last words before his breathing evened out, his eyes now closed, only to remain that way for the duration of the night.

The North American bit his lip, wondering just why – of all things – Lovino had had to drop the 'L' bomb on him this late at night when he was at the precipice of slumber. Yes, he realized that Romano had told him he loved him numerous times before, and that it must have been difficult for the emotionally-awkward Italian to verbalize his real feelings every single one of those times, yet Matthew simply could not bring himself to say it back. Not so soon.

Too tired to ponder the matter further, he let his eyelids fall shut and his consciousness drift away as he began his fall into the arms of Morpheus.

He could feel it; at this point, the barriers guarding his feelings – weakened considerably from the Italian's sweet gestures and loving words over the course of the day – had come down, the whirlwind that was Lovino having pierced through them, rendering the Canadian completely defenseless.

What was to come was inevitable.

It would only be a matter of time before Matthew accepted him in.

End of Chapter Nine – Fin du Chapitre Neuf

Translations:

 _Qui es-tu_? – Who are you?

 _Merci Kuma_ – Thanks Kuma

 _Merci bien, mon cher_ – Thank you, my dear

 _Bienvenue au Biodôme_ , Lovi – Welcome to the Biodome, Lovi

 _Gran Madre di Dio_ – Great mother of God

 _Scusi_ – Formal way of saying 'sorry' in Italian.

" _Donc… comme lors de notre visite au Biodôme, j'vais l'dire ici aussi: bienvenue au Planétarium Rio Tinto Alcan mon cher Lovino._ _Tu sais… j'suis vraiment heureux d'être en ta compagnie en c'moment_." – "So… like during our visit to the Biodome, I'll say it here too : welcome to the Rio Tinto Alcan Planetarium my dear Lovino. You know… I'm really happy to be in your presence right now."

' _C'est fou comment, de plus en plus, j'me trouve à te vouloir constamment à mes côtés. En fait, je commence à perdre tous mes moyens par ta simple présence. Je sais que ça fait seulement une journée qu'on est en couple, et que peut-être je vais trop vite, mais j'ose espérer que tu sauras être ma douce moitié, mon âme sœur, mon confident. Je t'en prie Italie du Sud, ne joue pas avec mes sentiments._ _Ne sois pas comme les autres…_ ' – 'It's crazy how, more and more, I find myself wanting you constantly by my side. In fact, I'm starting to lose all my composure due to your simple presence. I know that it has only been a day that we're together (as a couple), and that maybe I'm going too fast, but I dare hope that you'll prove to be my other half, my soul mate, my confidant. Please South Italy, don't play with my feelings. Don't be like the others…' Word for word, ' _douce moitié_ ' literally translates to 'soft half', but means 'other half' in the romantic sense of this sentence. Therefore, if you wanna call your loved one 'my other half' in French, you say ' _ma douce moitié_ ', which is such a romantically sweet thing to say ^.^

 _Grazie Canada. Ti amo_. _–_ Thank you Canada. I love you.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

The Montreal Canadiens really did lose 3-2 to Colorado back in February. Which leads me to my next topic of discussion: I'm still very disappointed that not one single Canadian team made it to Stanley Cup playoffs this year. Maybe it's because of the fact that a lot of Canadian players and coaches (and so on) make up a good percentage of American teams… Either way, nice going Pens on winning the cup!

I absolutely love going to both the Biodome and Planetarium, so I just totally had to add them to the story! Right now at the Planetarium, they're showing this documentary/show called 'Aurorae', which is basically all about the Aurora Borealis, and I've been dying to see it! They're also showing this thing called 'Dark Universe', which talks about the dark side of the cosmos. Also interesting!

Yeah, the only time Canada ever qualified for the FIFA was in 1986… and we didn't even score a single goal lol. It's great because 1986 was also the year that Halley's comet (personally, my favorite comet!) passed by Earth. Let me just point out how awesome of a coincidence that is for the purpose of this story... I was super shocked that they happened in the same year, I mean considering that 1) Halley's comet only approaches Earth every 70 years or so, 2) that Canada has only participated one single time in the FIFA, and 3) FIFA only takes place every 4 years, what are the chances of all of that occurring in the same year? 1986 was an interesting year indeed.. :)

-The North America nebula thing is real, google it! It's crazy how it really does look like NA!

-I remember that women's soccer game between Canada and the USA back in the London 2012 Olympics. Our girls were doing so good! I honestly thought they'd win until the last minutes of the game proved me wrong. It made me sad that they lost, because they had played so well! It would have been cool for Canada to win a second gold metal since, overall, Canada only won one single gold medal back in 2012.

Here's some astronomy terminology:

-An alpha is said to be the brightest star in a constellation.

-To know what an asteroid belt is, you should check the one between Jupiter and Mars!

-Io, Callisto, Ganymede and Europa are four of the main moons that orbit around Jupiter. Io is my favorite; it reminds me of a pepperoni pizza... heh.

Ughh… I'm too lazy to do the rest. Google explains it way better than me anyways. So I encourage you to use google for those who are interested!

 **A/N:** Yeah, this chapter was heavily influenced by Greek mythology and astronomy, which are both things I'm passionate about. Just a heads up: Next chapter will be the last. Just so you know, I'm planning on writing a DenCan fic next, this time in my nation's capital Ottawa.

 _Baci_ (kisses, in Italian),

~SailorHikarinoMu


	10. Chapter 10: The Oratory & Snowman Making

Disclaimer: And nope, still not mine. Nor is the Oratory

A/N: …Uhmm… it's been like two months since I've last updated… again. I'm so sorry. I wasn't happy with this chapter when I reread it. I especially wasn't satisfied with the smut I had written, so I just completely erased it and started anew. I know I said at the beginning that there'd be yaoi in this story, but I decided to take it out. I mean, I still refer to it, but it's not super explicit or anything. Sorry. Also, I've been working almost every day, and since the beginning of August I've been watching the Olympics. Speaking of that, for a Nordic country that's not exactly reputed for doing well in the Summer Games (compared to the Winter ones), Canada's been doing pretty darn good, yeah? I'm so proud (especially of our women; they're all so inspiring and they are the ones that have been winning most of the medals. Oh heck yeah Girl Power!)!

Anyways, this is the last chapter guys and girls! Woot!

Thank you, _thank you_ , thank you! All of you. Thanks so much for reading this far and being patient through it all. After this last chapter, I'm gonna add a bonus chapter in which you guys will be able to read an English version of the legend I brushed upon in Chapter 5 (I don't know if you still remember that, but it's called La chasse-galerie).

And finally, the last chapter…

 **Canadian Refuge**

He could feel them: the cool, spindly fingers dancing on his skin, slowly, almost reverently, tiptoeing up his arm to the crook of his neck. His eyelids cracked open, the sight of Matthew looking down at him being the first thing he saw. He yawned before his eyes shut once more, blatantly refusing to be the one to speak first.

Taking it as his cue, Canada retracted his hand. "'Morning, Lovi." At noticing the Italian's unyielding vow of silence, the blond shifted closer to the other man with a downhearted sigh. "Look. I'm sorry." When the brunet sunk deeper into the covers, he pressed on. "C'mon Lovino, please don't be like that."

That caused the Southerner to finally look up, the evident hurt and confusion in his golden eyes betraying the scowl on his face.

The Canadian had been warming up to him the previous day. Despite a handful of shortcomings, he thought their relationship was going good thus far, but noticing Matthew continuously skirt around all of his ' _ti amo_ 's and 'I love you's for the past few days stung. He had tried to be understanding, to let his _angelo_ take his own steps without any coaxing on his part, but Lovino had never liked to wait for the things he wanted. And he wanted – needed – to hear the words spill out of Matthew's lips, hungered for a confirmation.

The blond's next words suddenly pulled the frustrated Italian out of his thought-filled mind:

"I'm aware that it's not in your nature to be patient, but you gotta remember that this is new to me. I'm probably making myself worry for nothing, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared you'll just leave one day. That you'll get tired of me and move on."

"…Do you really think I'd do that to you?" It had come out quiet, dangerously calm.

"No," Canada said. His eyes indicated otherwise.

"Matthew... don't lie to me," he warned. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do," the North American immediately objected. "But what does trust have to do with you leaving? I've trusted others before and that's never stopped them from walking away." He pulled the covers higher around his willowy frame, feeling cold, and not from the ambient temperature in the room.

"Others aren't me. And don't you ever compare me to them. Ever", he added with finality. "We're not in the Age of Discovery anymore Matthew. I'm not looking for more power or land or wealth. You should know that by now." The severity on his face had melted at that point, fondness taking its place. "Besides, I don't have a reason to leave. I need you." With his knuckles, he began to trace the other's face. "I need to be with you, see your face, hear your voice…. I thought I had already made that clear to you."

"Crystal. But again, that doesn't stop me from worrying." A soft sigh escaped his lips before he resumed, "I'm sorry."

The European rolled his eyes with a huff. "Stop apologizing. Just," he shook his head, "stop. You've been making this so much harder than it needs to be." He paused for a moment, waiting for a rebuttal from Canada. When he received none, he elaborated, "You've been sending mixed signals recently and it confuses the shit out of me. One moment, it seems like everything's going well, and the next, it looks like you're regretting the whole thing."

They stared each other down for a moment, the Italian standing his ground while Canada seemed to be in the process of mulling over the words.

The silence in the room merely thickened as seconds ticked by, until the blond finally arched a fine eyebrow in question. "Mixed signals? What do you mean?"

"…Are you for real right now?" He almost smacked himself on the forehead, yet remained motionless, eyes nevertheless wide with disbelief. "The first thing you did yesterday morning was basically stick your tongue down my throat. I thought that was your way of telling me to stop taking it slow, an encouragement. But then yesterday night, you just…." He tried to conceal his current irritation, but the bitterness in his tone seeped through anyways. "You flat out refused to say it back." He purposefully emphasized the 'it', wanting to make sure the North American knew exactly what he was referring to.

So Romano had indeed noticed that, eh? Matthew internally sighed; it seemed he had a lot of explaining to do. Knowing how ill-tempered the Southern Italian was, he needed to think fast. "Actions speak louder than words," he offered meekly. Okay, admittedly, that had been rather weak, clichéd even, but he hoped Romano would take it.

No such luck; Lovino was clearly unconvinced.

"Canada," he started (Matthew all the while cringing at the formality), "that's not always the case. At least not where I'm from, and you know that." The Italian paused, weighing his words before asking, "Tell me, which one of us said yesterday that communication is important in a relationship? Because it sure as hell wasn't me." Seeing that the Canadian was keeping silent, he decided to use another, gentler approach. "Remember how, after our ski trip last _mercoled_ _ì_ , I promised to always stop whatever it was that I was doing if you got uncomfortable? Well, it still applies now. You don't have to tell me 'you know what' if you don't want to, but at least explain why. I think I deserve that much, no?" He tried to stay patient, but it was proving to be difficult. "It's just, you've been initiating kisses and stuff but you won't say those three little words? That's not really fair _angelo_." When the Canadian's eyes lowered in what Romano could only assume was guilt, he panicked. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I swear. It's just… I want so much from you, but at the same time, I want you to go at your own pace." The European suddenly sunk his face in his hands, muttering quietly to himself, "Fucking hell, this shit is so complicated."

Cool hands landed on his own, Matthew's voice reassuring him, "You're not the only one at fault."

The brunet chanced a peek, and found the Arctic nation smirking sheepishly, amethyst eyes looking off to the side in embarrassment.

"Actually," the Canadian resumed, "I've been forcing myself to be more loving." He then backtracked at feeling the Mediterranean stiffen under his fingertips, "Well, no, not exactly 'forcing' per say. But, I did convince myself that if I were to show you how I feel through actions, since words aren't exactly my strong suit, it wouldn't feel as one-sided for you." He let out a nervous chuckle. "I guess that kinda backfired, didn't it?"

The older man abruptly sat up, stunned for a moment, until a wide smile broke out onto his lips. He shuffled closer to the Canadian, leaning down to mouth ' _grazie_ ' against the other's lips before pecking them sweetly. "So you do love me." It came out as more of a contemplative statement than a question.

Canada simply pulled the Latin nation down for another kiss as his eyelids fluttered shut. They then instantly flew open once he felt Romano resist. "Wha-" he interrupted himself, the Italian's intense gaze – filled with the same amount of expectance Matthew had seen the previous night – piercing through him, prompting him.

Their eyes remained locked on each other, Canada thinking of a way to get out of his current predicament whilst the Italian kept staring with that damned unyielding expectance that was seriously starting to weaken the blond's resolve.

"Do you?" the Italian finally asked, the smile from before now starting to wane.

"Do I what?"

Romano exhaled deeply, nostrils flaring slightly and teeth gritting together from underneath tightly sealed lips; the smile was gone now, having left no trace of ever being there. Matthew was clearly playing games with him now, and that in itself was irritating, disquieting. Though, beyond anything else, it hurt him to be treated in such a way, to see Canada evading his every attempt. The North American was making it seem like Lovino was demanding the impossible. But… was he really asking for that much? Or was the Mediterranean simply overdramatizing it all? The latter option was probable, given the circumstances.

South Italy clenched his fists and, in a bout of determination, decided to cut to the chase, refusing to let the Canadian have his way yet again. "You're gonna have to say it someday anyways, Matthew. Might as well get it over with."

"So says the one who's been unable to confess for years." The Northerner was desperately trying to buy himself time, trying to save himself from falling completely whilst he still had the chance, because once he said those three little words that had put him into this mess in the first place, he knew there was no going back…. He would be fully and entirely committed because that was how he worked: once he fell, he fell hard. That was why it hurt so much when people he allowed himself to fall for left. That was why he tried so hard to keep himself from falling in the first place. That was why he had been scared shitless when Romano had initially confessed, and had preferred to jump off a ski lift forty feet high in the air then confront the Italian like any other sane person would have done.

"True. But that doesn't mean you have to do the same."

As the last of the Italian's words were uttered, the room plunged back into an awkward, stifling silence, the motions (limited as they were) coming from the two individuals in it – because Kumajirou was most definitely not with them, God only knew where he had gone – stilling briefly.

Slowly, tentatively, Lovino raised a hand to brush the pad of his thumb over the Canadian's unresponsive lips, letting it linger there for a moment, worshipping the plump pink skin in a way that succeeded to finally crack the blond.

" _Bon, d'accord_ …" he started slowly, French words rolling off his tongue much more smoothly than what was ever possible for him in English, giving him the assurance he needed. It was not that he was against the idea of confessing the words out loud, it had more to do with the fact that he was nervous of the outcome, especially on the long run. Because love was a fickle thing, especially for nations, and Canada knew too well how volatile relationships could be. Regardless, he was intent on proving himself wrong, so he breathed in, exhaled – a last minute moment he let himself have – and spoke loud and clear. " _Je t'aime. Content maintenant_?"

He had done it. He had finally voiced it out loud, had finally allowed his previous inhibitions to fly away, officially proving his investment in Romano on the same occasion.

The answer to his question came in the form of Lovino roughly pulling him onto his lap. "What the –"

"Again. Say it again," came the demand, bordering a plea.

" _Je_ –"

"No. Not in French. In English this time."

"I-I love you." Matthew averted his gaze, more than ever hating his tendency to stammer at crucial times.

French words never betrayed him, never caused him to falter, at least not the way English ones did. It was a wonder how such a large percentage (30? Or was it 45?) of the English language actually came from French. Though, now was not the time to think of such things. Blinking the thoughts away, the Canadian was once more focused solely on the nation before him.

Oblivious to the other's previous bout of inattention, the Italian cupped the back of the Francophone's skull, driving him closer, coaxing. "…Say it to my face."

"I love you." Earnest violet eyes peeked over the rim of glasses, boring into caramel counterparts.

"Good. Now say it in Italian." Now that Romano had been given an inch, nothing would prevent him from taking the mile.

"Lovino!" he squawked indignantly.

"You have five seconds to say it… or else." He tried not to laugh when Canada snorted rebelliously.

"Or else what?"

" _Cinque_ …"

"Lovin–"

" _Quattro_ …"

Tired of being repeatedly ignored and interrupted – he had enough of both during world meetings, thank you very much – the Arctic nation took action by pinning the other man onto the mattress of the bed, gravity causing his golden rivulets of hair to fall and brush against the Italian's cheeks. "Lovino. Stop tha–"

" _Tre-due-uno-zero_." The words zipped right out of his smirking lips, succinct and playful. "Time's up _tesoro mio_." Without further warning he flipped the nation atop him over, turning the tables of their amorous banter. "I'm waiting…" he drawled as he began to pepper his darling's neck with brief, hungry kisses, not knowing how sensitive the column of skin was until the Canadian started to laugh and squirm from underneath him.

"Okay, okay. I give up," he surrendered, breathless from having been unintentionally tickled. " _Ti amo_."

The shower of kisses slowed to a trickle, the blond's sudden confession having left Romano at a momentary loss for words. " _Anch'io_ ," it came out quiet, tender, with each syllable pronounced meticulously, as if speaking any differently would unwind the very fabric of space and alter the course of history. "I love you so much."

Looking into those golden irises that promised perpetual devotion and a love just for him, Matthew Williams, the same man that had been living a mostly doleful and unrecognised existence before Lovino had shown up, the Northerner was left wondering how he could have ever abstained from uttering those simple words back for so long.

He regretted having ever done so at all.

* * *

They had just finished their breakfast, Matthew ridding the table of crumbs and coffee spills as Lovino occupied himself with washing the dishes, Kumajirou munching happily beside him; Canada, having forgotten to give the bear his treat the night before as promised, had filled his bowl with fresh wild salmon despite the cub having never even known about the reward in the first place.

Not that the latter was complaining.

Matthew, having finished cleaning, glanced towards the Southerner and felt himself freeze on the spot.

Lovino radiated happiness, the wide smile on his face a testament to that statement. As if spellbound, Canada stood silently in place, violet eyes trained on the way Romano was crooning some Italian love ballad under his breath while rinsing the soapy dishes.

Having sensed the eyes roaming his person, the Mediterranean's soft hums died out as he put the last plate to dry on the rack beside the sink. Without turning around, he lightly admonished, "It's rude to stare, _angelo_."

Snapping out of his quiet contemplation, the blond wordlessly walked over to where the other nation stood, moving closer until his chest was flush against the brunet's back. With a kiss to the European's tanned jaw, the North American brought his arms around the other's waist from behind. "I know. Sorry," he said simply.

Chuckling and eyes shining with mirth, South Italy twisted around until he was face to face with the Canadian.

Matthew's breath hitched, heart suddenly constricting in his chest at the sight.

And just like that, " _je t'aime_ " fell from his lips for the second time that morning.

* * *

"Is there anything in particular that you'd want to do today?" He inserted his car key into the ignition and felt the motor rumble to life as he switched it to 'start' and then 'on'.

"What day are we today again?"

"Friday the 19th." He shifted gears, backing out of his driveway. When the Italian made no comment, the Arctic nation asked, "Is something the matter?"

"No. It's just, if we were Sunday, I would have asked to go to church. It's been a while since I last went, you know?" the Southerner answered distractedly, fiddling with the radio.

"I know where we can go." He payed no mind to the European's inquisitive stare, instead keeping his eyes on the stretch of asphalt in front of him. "And I think you'll like it."

Lovino's lips curled slightly upwards. Turning to the window, his eyes lost themselves on the snow dust falling from the bleak midwinter sky above the city. "I'll take your word for it then."

* * *

South Italy more than liked it; he loved it. The cross at the very top of the green dome-shaped roof confirmed the suspicions he had formulated over the thirty-minute drive.

" _Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of yo_ –" The song on the radio was cut off the moment Matthew finished parking.

Stepping out of the vehicle, the younger nation explained, "This is Saint Joseph's Oratory of Mount Royal, nicknamed 'A Light on the Mountain'. It happens to be the largest church in Canada, and millions of people from all around the world come to visit this place every year. It offers one of the most beautiful views of the city since it's so high up on _Mont-Royal_ , or Mount Royal in English."

Noticing how he had gained Romano's full attention, he continued, "You see, Mount Royal is the tallest so-called 'mountain' in Montreal. I mean, it's not really a mountain, more like a very big hill, but I digress. When Jacques Cartier first discovered it back in 1535, during his second voyage, he was the one that named it. Back then, Montreal was known as _Hochelaga_. After that, in 1643, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, the founder and first governor of Montreal, erected a giant cross at the peak of the mountain. At that time, there was a flood threatening the city, and so he prayed to the Virgin Mary for her to have mercy on the first settlers and spare them. In return, he promised to erect the aforementioned cross, and that's what he ended up doing. Of course, since that cross was made out of wood, it rotted with time and thus had to be replaced. The one we see today is made out of steel, and stands more than thirty meters tall so that it properly overlooks the city. There are LED lights on it so as to ensure its visibility even at night."

They were now walking up the path to the Oratory, snow still falling from the sky.

He then smiled at the older nation at his side. "That was a pretty short history lesson, but cool nevertheless, eh?"

The Italian nodded curtly. "Yeah." He then pointed to the imposing shrine up ahead. "Now tell me about this Oratory of yours. What makes it so special?"

"Ah yes, so just like the famous cross on Mount Royal, another important symbol to many Montrealers is the Oratory, which is where I decided to bring you today. It's the largest holy place in the world dedicated to Saint Joseph, and was founded by Brother André Bessette in… 1904, I believe. Actually, André wasn't his original name. It was Alfred, just like America's human name." He internally chuckled, remembering when his brother had discovered that tidbit of information, and had promptly claimed that he was the one and only 'true' Alfred, despite there being thousands of people named as such. "Anyways, to get back to what I was saying, Brother André was known for healing the ill and providing a refuge for the poor. He is said to have helped thousands of people through Saint Joseph's intercession."

"Wait a minute, Saint Brother André was canonized back in 2010. I make it a priority to always follow what's happening in the Vatican." He eyed the religious sanctuary with new respect. "I especially remember because he was one of yours," he added under his breath.

Brightening up, the Canadian clarified, "Yeah, you're exactly right, but I still call him only by Brother since he was referred as such for so long that it's become a habit. It feels like only yesterday since he was declared a Saint. He was the first Canadian man to be given such a title, you know. It sure made my citizens proud, especially those here in Quebec."

"And you? Were you proud?" the brunet asked curiously, shivering when a sudden gust of bitter wind swished past them.

Canada, noticing his companion's trembling form, took the time to wrap his arm around the other's waist, pressing closer, before answering with a chuckle, "Of course I was. Still am." He paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment, to then softly admit, "France visited me when he first heard the news. He took me out to eat and showered me with more attention than he had in years, more than he had even during the Olympics." He stared at the sky, looking pensive, before resuming, "I mean, I don't doubt for a second that he was proud of me. But I knew upon seeing him at my doorstep that he had another motive. He was just shoving it in England's face. He was pleased that someone from his former colony achieved such a high distinction, and obviously felt the need to gloat." The duo started walking up the many set of stairs towards the shrine, Romano subtly gritting his teeth though choosing not to interrupt. "You see, _Nouvelle-France_ was basically what is now the province of Quebec. When England won the war in 1763, he was… kind enough to let my French settlers keep their religion and language. That's why Quebec is mostly Catholic and French-speaking while the rest of Canada is pretty much Protestant and English. If the people living in New France would have been forced to adopt Arthur's culture, then Quebec would undoubtedly be Protestant and English-speaking just like the rest of my country, and Brother André would have never become a Saint most probably."

"I still don't understand the part when you said that wine-jerk was boasting about it to tea-bastard."

"Oh, well it's because he made a huge deal about visiting me, and so of course Arthur found out. I mean, it was all over social media."

"Yeah, that explains it. I don't follow that shit. I can't stand that Facebook crap and Twitties and Insta-whatever-the-rest-of-the-name-is, especially that it's to the point of obsession for some people. It just can't be healthy."

The North American chuckled, eyes alight with amusement. "I take it that you're not very savvy in the ways of social networking?" He then spoke in a hushed tone, as though what was to be uttered next were a secret of paramount importance, "Just between you and I, don't ever tell America what you just told me. He'll have a fit, and by the time he'll be done with you, you'll be the next Im Yong Soo... or maybe not. Alfie doesn't do too well with being anything but the best, especially at modern technology, and the fact that South Korea is said to have the fastest Internet connection in the world irks him. So he'd probably only raise you to my level, not that it's bad or anything," he defended quickly, "but I just so happen to be slightly under him in that sense." He let out a sigh, the plume of warm air rendered visible from the cold.

At long last, they arrived at the top of the stairs, South Italy frowning in disappointment as Canada's arm left his waist.

"Anyways, we're here," the blond reminded cheerfully, preferring to veer off their previous topic of conversation. "Come, I'll bring you to every level and explain what there is to see. Call me your guide for the day… even though that's basically been my job since the day you got here, now that I think about it," the blond chuckled to himself, missing Lovino's eye roll.

* * *

"Would you like to go to Mass first? Because that's what we originally came here for, so I figured…" Canada trailed off, scanning the information pamphlet he had picked up by the front entrance. "It says here that there's only one Mass per day in English, and seven of them in French from Mondays through Saturdays, and eight on Sundays. Hey look, they even offer a Mass in Spanish once a month. Hmm… say, maybe you should bring Spain sometime." At a dark look from the Italian, he snickered. "Jeez, I'm just kidding Lovi! Like England would say: no use getting your knickers in a twist. You know, it's funny, I thought you liked Antonio." He tapped his chin in thought. "Well at least, he sure seems to like you."

"It's not reciprocated," came the tight-lipped reply. At seeing Matthew's face fall, he raised a brow in question. "What?"

"…I don't think you'll ever understand how envious I've always been of you. Spain pampered you with attention and showered you with all the love in the world, and yet… you don't seem the least bit appreciative."

A pang of guilt struck the brunet, just now realizing his lack of tact. "I'm sorry. I guess I am pretty fortunate that I got Spain as a caretaker. It's just, I get annoyed easily, and sometimes it feels like he's smothering me, you know? But… I do appreciate him… sort of." He proceeded to bring Matthew's free hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle apologetically, because he hated seeing his _tesoro_ so sad, and would do anything – from bending over backwards to groveling at the Canadian's feet – just to see that godawful frown leave his face.

'… _Dio_ , what have I become?'

Though when the North American sent a small smile his way, a subtle sign Lovino had come to recognize as Matthew's way of conveying forgiveness, he simply could not find it in himself to regret his previous thoughts, as weak as he perceived them to be.

Bah, to hell with it all; as long as the Canadian smiled, he would be perfectly fine with bending over backwards and groveling.

As a bonus, he would even invite Spain to the Oratory (dragging his former caretaker if the latter declined) and attend the monthly Spanish Mass with him. Willingly. Just to please his _angelo_.

'…Okay, seriously, what have I become?'

* * *

Having just finished with his usual prayer, South Italy sneaked a glance at the kneeling nation next to him. The Canadian was praying softly under his breath, eyes closed and the words "Lord, please keep Alfie safe" and "Give me the strength to help those in need" easily discernible along with some French.

Feeling like he was intruding, the European got up from his seat and walked down the seemingly-endless rows of pews towards an impressive section of votive candles.

Just this once, he would allow himself to be selfish; as he lit a small beeswax yellow candle at the very top, he prayed " _Per favore Dio_ , despite what the Catholic Church and Rome might think, please let what Matthew and I have last." He performed the sign of the cross. "Preferably forever, if that's okay with you," he tacked on as an afterthought. "Amen."

* * *

After Mass, the first thing the pair of nations did was head to Saint Brother André's tomb to pay their respects.

They were now ascending the stairs leading to the forth level, agreeing they would stop by the third floor gift shop on their way back down.

As they passed the threshold, the Southern Italian found himself being dragged by the hand towards a smaller area where a glass reliquary was on display.

"That's his heart," the North American explained simply, his fingers still wrapped firmly around the Italian's.

"Whose? Saint Brother André's?"

The blond only nodded, before adding, "He asked for it to be on display so that it may serve as protection for the Basilica. It also gives pilgrims the chance to be close to him and his… how to say it… purity, in a way. Someone stole it back in 1973, you know. But it was recovered in some person's basement nearly two years later. The one that committed the theft was hoping to sell it, but from what I heard, no buyer was interested."

Romano raised a brow, yet chose not to comment.

"Yeah, I can tell what you're thinking." Canada voiced out loud, unknowingly surprising the European. "And I agree, that is rather disturbing. I mean, to steal the heart of a deceased religious figure for money? I was shocked when I heard the news, but not surprised honestly. We both know crazier things have happened. People will do pretty much anything for money." He then sighed, dropping the subject before pulling out the pamphlet to read through it once more. "Hmm… just like I thought, besides his heart, this floor also includes a display on his life if you're interested in seeing that. Level five is the Oratory's museum. And finally, level six is basically the Basilica, though if we go outside, the Original Chapel is not too far away." Tucking the paper back into his pocket, he turned to South Italy. "Just so you know, we've already seen most of what the Oratory has to offer. We can always head home if you'd like."

The last statement catching him off guard, South Italy inquired, "Why would I want to leave when I haven't visited everything?"

The North American looked off to the side, mentally berating himself for letting the suggestion slip past his lips in the first place. "Well…" he drawled, the pale fingers of his free hand fiddling subtly with the hem of his winter coat.

His eyebrows furrowing slightly in suspicion, the Italian retracted his hand from the Canadian's own. He then crossed his arms, keeping his eyes trained on the nation before him. "Matthew, why would I want to leave?" he repeated, slower this time.

The blond released a sigh, before finally admitting, "It's just, your capital is home to the center of the Catholic faith, home to the head of the Church." He smiled bitterly. "For crying out loud, you have the Vatican within your borders… Saint Peter's Basilica! Why would you want to stay here when you have all of that? After Mass, I was convinced that you were going to want to bolt out of here. But you didn't, and that in itself astounds me." Before he could gauge Lovino's reaction, the latter's burst of laughter made its way to his ears. His eyes shifting to the brunet, Matthew blinked at the sight; he had expected an angry snort, a disapproving cluck of tongue, an irritated 'tsk', but not the rich chuckles he was presented with.

"Ah Matthew, what am I going to do with you?" Subsequent to his bout of laughter, an amused grin stretched the Italian's face. As he wiped a lone tear from the corner of his eye, he kissed the speechless Canadian's parted lips. "You'll never learn, will you?" With that, it was his turn to drag the Northerner away. "Come, let's go see that display you were talking about. After that, I'm going to race you up the escalators and we'll pay a visit to the museum. And after that," he brought the hand he was holding to his lips, kissing it, "we'll go to the final level of this amazing Oratory of yours and see the Basilica, where I'll then force you outside because I actually do want to drop by the Original Chapel, believe it or not."

Lost in his admonishment, he failed to notice the unwonted, almost wondrous fervor currently shining in Canada's eyes.

* * *

With a small curve of lips, Romano momentarily studied the small figurine in his hand, to then put it back in the bag amongst the rest of the gift shop souvenirs he had bought.

They were once more in the Canadian's car and on their way home from their day's outing to the Oratory. The sun, well past its zenith, painted the Montreal sky with strokes of pinks and purples as snow now fell in thick clumps.

"It's funny, how early the sun sets in this city of yours. How by five o'clock, it's already pitch black outside," the Italian commented, contemplative.

The Arctic nation quickly glanced towards the passenger side, not daring to take his eyes off the road for more than a second with the current weather. "It's not always like that. Come Spring, the days get longer, and then in the Fall they get shorter all over again. It's a yearly cycle," he explained simply.

Meanwhile, Romano let his eyes linger on the concentrated Northerner behind the wheel, captivated – and not for the first time since entering the vehicle – by the sight of the handsome Canadian right at his side.

The blond's explanation now over, South Italy went back to eyeing the bag containing the day's purchases. Once he returned to his country, he would make certain to display them throughout his many households.

He then reminisced on how, not even an hour earlier, Matthew and he had asked the priest of the Oratory to bless the items, to which the human had gladly obliged. Rather than watching the benediction unfold, he had kept his eyes solely on Canada, thinking all the while of how blessed he was to have the blond in his life.

Lovino's lips quirked into a lazy, blissful smile at the memory.

* * *

Supper that evening was quiet, but pleasantly so.

The tomato sauce from the previous day had been brought out and slathered on breaded chicken breasts along with a scattering of cheese, the typical recipe for chicken parmigiana. With sides of fresh salad and baked eggplant, they ate in amiable silence while gazing out the window; the falling snow kept piling over everything – from ground to tree branches – in layers.

As he dabbed his mouth with a napkin, finished with his meal, Matthew gently asked, "Would you like to accompany me outside? It would only be for a moment."

Quirking an eyebrow, the Southerner nevertheless nodded.

Besides, saying 'no' to Canada was just never an option, he reminded himself with an inward chuckle.

* * *

Warm in their winter apparel, the pair of nations made their way towards the Canadian's front lawn, the fresh snow bed crunching with their every step.

"So… why are we out here again?" South Italy's voice cut through the silence of the night, the city streetlamps their main source of light, orange tinged as it was.

The Canadian glanced at the older man by his side, to then look back at the expanse of snow around them. "Tell me, what do you think the difference is between the snow from previous days to the one now?" he asked cryptically, his breath condensing in the air as he waited for an answer.

Lovino's face promptly scrunched in confusion. "Uh… today there's more of it?" At a disapproving 'tut-tut' from Matthew, he shrugged, giving up. Honestly, was there really something that set snow apart from snow? Snow was snow, and from what he knew it all looked the same, no matter where it was found.

"This type of snow is thicker, stickier. Perfect for making snowballs."

Oh.

That sounded like a warning if Romano had ever heard one.

"Ah… I see," the brunet commented, not without a hint of a grimace tugging at his lips.

Canada turned to smile sweetly at the wary European. "But don't worry. We're not going to be doing those. I only have snowball fights," ' _more like snowball wars_ ,' he corrected mentally, "with Alfred."

Sighing in relief, Lovino sent a grin of his own. "Okay. Then what are we doing?"

"I'm gonna teach you how to build a snowman, of course!" he exclaimed, eyes twinkling beautifully despite the harsh orange rays coming from the now flickering streetlamps.

"… Excuse me?"

"We're gonna–"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," interrupted South Italy, studying the other nation. "But why?"

"Why not? It's fun! C'mon, I'll show you." The blond crouched down and proceeded to scoop enough snow to make a snowball. "First, you make a small ball, like so," he showed the brunet his snowball. "Then, once you have that, you gotta lay it on the ground, preferably on an area where the snow is fresh and untouched, and then you start rolling. The snow will easily stick to the ball and cause it to grow in size. That's why it's best to do this sort of thing using moist snow, like we have here. The wetness is what makes the snow so sticky and compact. You can't have your snow be too wet, though. Or else it's just called slush, and you can't do much with that in terms of making stuff." Canada then turned to the Italian. "A typical snowman consists of three large snowballs, the biggest at the bottom and the smallest at the top. Now, how 'bout you come join me? We could make the bottom one together," he encouraged, offering a hand in invitation.

His heart fluttering, the European took it and bent down next to the blond. Canada rolled the ball around for a short while as demonstration, to then let Romano have his turn.

Said Italian attempted to copy what the Canadian had done only moments before, albeit clumsily; the ball was now oval in shape, and starting to crack in some places.

"Try to make it as spherical as possible, and don't be afraid to pat the snow down if it's too loose. Remember; you gotta make this one strong enough to withstand two other balls on top of it," he directed gently, watching the Mediterranean's progress with a critical eye.

Romano did as instructed, making sure the edges were round, sanding them with his gloves if they were not, and packing extra snow to seal any fissures.

Impressed, Canada asked, "Is this your first time doing this? It's just, you're pretty decent considering your half of Italy is pretty much hot 'n' sunny all year round."

Chuckling, South Italy paused to turn towards the blond. "I've never done this before," he confirmed. "You're just a great teacher," he added with a wink, full-on laughing when Canada muttered a bashful "Thank you" in response.

As his laughter died down, the older nation returned to the task at hand, his cheeks a blotchy red and nose starting to leak from the cold.

Despite it, Matthew found his gaze glued to the brunet.

God… Lovino just looked so damn happy: eyes overly bright and stupid dopey grin seeming to have taken permanent residence upon his face.

Quietly, the North American helped stabilize the now big-enough ball of snow to the ground by adding more snow to its base. He felt the urge to pull the unsuspecting brunet into his arms, just because, but resisted knowing the snowman would never be completed should that happen.

The Italian's next words then interrupted his silent musings, "I said it yesterday, but I'll say it again anyways. You're nothing but a masterpiece in my eyes."

The Canadian stalled in his movements, confused – he had never heard Lovino label him as such, like the latter claimed – but decided that hearing it once more than sufficed.

Of all the things he wanted to say back, he mumbled a shaky "Let's just get this done and over with for now, 'kay?" without straying his eyes from the large ball of snow in front of him.

Both stayed quiet after that, too focused on completing their snowman.

One of the streetlights that had been flickering finally burnt out.

* * *

They ended up staying outside longer than for 'only a moment'; sometime while adding the finishing touches – a stick of celery instead of a carrot for a nose because that was how they rolled, and not at all because there were no carrots to begin with… Romano having used the remaining few to make his tomato sauce – Matthew had finally succumbed to his previous urges and had tugged the Italian towards himself. Except, despite the good intentions, Romano had awkwardly twisted in surprise, ultimately ending up face first in a blanket of snow that had curiously remained unaffected by their snowman making. From there, a somewhat shaken Romano, after having recovered from his initial shock, had proceeded to grab a fistful of snow and shove it down the (by then, sniggering) Canadian's coat. They had spent the next twenty minutes grappling on whatever inch of Canada's front yard available, laughing hysterically the entire time.

They now found themselves indoors once more, shivering and for the most part drenched. South Italy had the slightly difficult job of locking the door behind them while the tremors of laughter continued to ripple through their bodies.

"That was fun," Matthew managed to say, a touch breathless, yet perfectly content. Toeing off his boots, he left the room in search of the one closet he knew was stocked to the brim with the plushiest of towels.

The Italian gave an absentminded grunt of affirmation, hurriedly ridding himself of his coat as the combination of cold and wet began to numb his limbs. It was when he stood shirtless, the majority of his clothes pooled at his feet, that he noticed Matthew had left in the first place and now stood behind him, mouth slightly agape and holding an armload of heavenly-looking towels.

Nervous, and beyond everything else embarrassed – for he was not one to parade around half-naked in another's home; that was Francis' thing… and Antonio's when the Spanish heat became too much and the sangria got to his head– he shrunk in on himself and was in the middle of crossing his arms over his midriff when Canada's free hand stopped him.

"No. Don't do that. Let me look at you. Please?" The blond gnawed at his lower lip, hoping Lovino would heed to the request.

His face now a bright crimson, the Latin nation reluctantly let his arms fall to his sides, exposing himself to his _angelo_ 's roaming gaze, yet keeping his head down. It was not that he was ashamed of his body. No, certainly not. It was just that he feared Matthew's view of him, feared seeing the slightest hint of disinterest – or worse, contempt – flash through those lovely violet irises. The thought was unfounded and completely ludicrous, of course; Matthew was one of the most cordial (at least, outside of hockey), and accepting individuals he knew. Yet, his mind had a (surely, world-class) talent when it came to generating the worst of possible outcomes.

"Good God, Lovi. You're magnificent."

Caramel eyes shot up to meet the Canadian's own.

And all of the previous real-life nightmares his mind had concocted simply vanished.

Romano found the North American staring right at him, intently and with something akin to wonder, as if he were laying eyes on something rare and precious, something to be adored and treasured unconditionally.

That single look took him by surprise; he had been looking at Matthew the exact same way for years.

And by 'Good God', as Canada had said, it felt to Lovino like everything, the whole world – hell, the whole entire _Universe_ – was going  right for a change.

* * *

Matthew's shirt met the floor with a wet 'smack', joining the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. On his part, Romano was lost in the moment, pressing a ring of kisses to the Arctic nation's neck.

They were tangled together on top of the mattress and almost completely nude, the unused towels discarded somewhere nearby and forgotten.

Because when it came down to it, exchanging body heat was so much more practical.

Canada was an inch away from divesting the brunet of his last item of clothing, his underwear, when a hand landed abruptly on his own.

" _Aspetta_ , _tesoro mio_. I don't think we should continue." Despite the no-nonsense tone of voice, the words had come out somewhat haltingly.

Managing to look impassive despite being confused, the Francophone asked, "And why is that?"

South Italy sighed, turning away from the other's inquiring gaze. "Well… what if you regret this afterwards? I don't want that. Besides, I meant what I said the other day about taking things slow. I don't mind waiting, so you shouldn't pressure yourself considering it's probably your first time."

"And who says it is?" Matthew questioned, chin in hand and fighting a grin as he now sat cross-legged on the bed.

Dark eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. "I thought–"

"You thought incorrectly," Canada interjected with a small, airy laugh. When the Italian's eyes widened in understanding, he explained, "Don't get me wrong, I'm mostly forgotten and unseen by most, and unused to being loved, let alone touched, but I'm a lot less innocent than one might think. I mean come on! I have needs too. I may be centuries old, but for all my years spent walking this earth, I'm stuck in the body of a young man. So, of course I've had sex before. But that's all it was: sex." He then shifted to his side so as to lay facing the tanned nation. "However," he pressed, "I've never actually kissed anyone before you. I never let them, well at least not on the lips. Sex is one thing, but kissing is another. I believe it to be much more… how to say it… significant? Meaningful? To me, it's just not something that should be taken lightly. Not that sex is meaningless, but I personally perceive it as 'different'. Not any less intimate than a kiss either, but different all the same." Canada pressed fervent, bruising kisses to the other's lips to prove his point. He then turned serious. "Either way, I'm laying my heart out on a silver platter for your taking, because you have more than proven yourself to me. Because I trust you won't hurt me." His eyes were suddenly steely. Arctic cold. "Just know that it's going to be extremely difficult to get rid of me now that I let myself fall for you. You think the little stunt you pulled yesterday was possessive? Well think again. I'm just as possessive as you are, probably even more so. If you ever cheat on me, you could bet your ass that I won't hesitate to chase you across Europe with my wooden hockey stick in hand, because the good ol' wooden ones from back in the day definitely hurt more than the new ones made out of fiberglass. And I guarantee," he internally smirked when Romano flinched, "by the time I'll be done with you, Alfred won't have the heart to fall through with his own threat." Boreal eyes softened to lilac once more. "But… I know deep down you'll never do that. So for now, how 'bout you forget what I just said and let me finish undressing you?"

As the significance behind Matthew's words hit him square in the chest, the European could only nod while he watched the blond move his hand away.

* * *

They were now openly staring at each other, letting their eyes wander and silently worship without any qualms. Not one of them was holding back as they uncovered each other for the first time, studying every dip and curve, every parcel of skin on the other nation's body.

There was no awkwardness. Only quiet praise, and the reality of what they were about to do resting lightly on both of their shoulders.

Slowly, almost tentatively, Romano reached out to slide his fingertips down the Canadian's torso, shivering in anticipation as he did so. Having the Great White North in all his naked splendor was, to put it simply, breathtaking. Matthew was absolutely gorgeous. All porcelain skin and taut muscle, with sprinklings of honey hairs along the way. Lovino was at a loss for words just by looking at him. "You're so wonderful, Matthew. Magnificent." He took a deep breath, heart clenching in his chest. "I don't know how it's even possible, but with each passing day, I just keep on falling more and more in love with you," he added quietly, forcing himself not to falter as he was wont to do when speaking straight from the heart.

The words had scarcely passed his lips when he found the Canadian's mouth glued to his, kissing him like it were do or die.

" _Alors, vas-y_. _Prouve-le-moi_."

And the meaning of the words did not matter in the slightest; it was the intensity of feeling behind them.

They loved.

* * *

Lovino gently coiled a wisp of golden hair around his index finger. He was propped on one elbow, gazing adoringly at the sleeping Francophone whose cheek was pressed against his chest.

They both wore a thin sheen of sweat, sated and content.

Matthew had shown to be quite the gifted lover. He guessed that the Canadian's French heritage had a part to play in that, loath as Romano was to admit.

Still, he had enjoyed every second of it, had relished watching the blond writhe under him and pant fervently, pupils dilated with so much need that they pushed the violet irises to their circumference.

South Italy still felt an unquellable want for more, and that just by the thought of owning Matthew in such an intimately liberating way.

His body was not on par, however.

A shame really. Or maybe not considering Canada, waist-down under the red and white bedsheets, was already beyond the state of somnolence, his rhythmic breathing soft.

A momentary vibration at the bedside table distracted the Mediterranean from his silent contemplation, but failed to pull him away from the young nation his mind was currently engrossed with.

It was when his phone vibrated for the sixth consecutive time that the Southerner finally took action. Reaching for the device, he scowled at the name of the caller displayed in bold letters on his screen.

His boss.

Whatever it was this time, it had to be important if the man was being so persistent.

Sighing, he carefully lifted Matthew's head off his chest and slid out of the covers.

He turned to his Northern angel once more, his lips curving upwards at the sight, before disappearing from the room.

* * *

Watery sunlight bled through the curtains, clinging to the walls and rousing Canada from sleep. Yawning blissfully, said nation allowed his limbs to spread like a starfish across the bed in a well-needed stretch.

Not coming into contact with anything else but cool bedsheets, his eyes snapped open. Now alert, he twisted on himself and sat up, seeking, listening for any tell-tale sign that Lovino was somewhere in the house. When silence greeted him, he fell back on the mattress, almost missing the sound of crinkling paper coming from underneath his palm.

After grabbing for his glasses, he pinched the corner of the letter and brought it up to his face.

' _You're probably going to be reading this in the morning, and by the time you do, I'll be on some plane heading back to my country._

 _I know, that sounds bad considering I said I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, and if at this point you want to bash my skull in the ground with your foot, fine. But read this to the end first._

 _The reason I had to leave is because there was a big raid in Naples. My police force had been planning this for months and they finally caught some of the most notorious mafia bosses in Italy._

 _My boss called and is giving me no choice. I have to go back. Actually, I'm not supposed to be telling you any of this. But I kinda just told my boss to go fuck screw himself and so here I am writing this letter. I could tell he's pissed… because he's screaming on the phone right now, but who the fuck gives a shit cares? You're worth it, and I wasn't going to just leave without doing at least this. I think you deserve better, but I'm short on time as it is._

 _Just know that I'll be coming back for you once things in my country calm down._

Ti amo _, and if I didn't, I wouldn't be fighting with my boss over the phone like I am now just so that I could write these lines._

A presto _,_

– _L.V._

 _P.S. I already told Feli about us, and about the pasta you made me. Hope you don't mind. He's already making plans on having you over,_ _the jackass_ _. Whatever. I'll just take that opportunity to teach you the recipe for my secret tomato sauce. Maybe if I show your people, they'll stop wanting to put it over poutine…_

 _It'll probably take me a while to get over that, you know._

 _Anyways, I think my boss is having a seizure now. So yeah…_ ciao _._ '

Matthew smiled, laughing at the somewhat awkward content, and laughing even more at how Lovino had gone out of his way to cross out the more vulgar words. He missed the irritable man already.

He shook his head, amused. This was definitely not the way he had wanted to wake up in the morning, but he knew Romano would keep his word.

His Lovi would return to him. And Matthew just knew, deep in his bones, that he would keep doing so.

And that in itself was all Matthew could ask for.

* * *

Outside on Canada's lawn, the snowman they had made – together – still stood proudly, a boreal chickadee perched on its celery stick nose.

End of Chapter Ten – Fin du Chapitre Dix

Translations:

 _Mercoled_ _ì_ – Wednesday

 _Bon, d'accord_ … – Alright, fine…

 _Je t'aime. Content maintenant?_ – I love you. Happy, now?

' _zero, uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque_ '– 'zero, one, two, three, four, five', in Italian

 _Anch'io_ – Me too

 _Per favore Dio_ – Please God

 _Aspetta_ , _tesoro mio_ – Wait, my treasure

" _Alors, vas-y_. _Prouve-le-moi_." – French for "Then go ahead. Prove it to me."

 _A presto_ – Italian for 'see you soon' or 'bye for now' (but I especially meant it to be the former). In French, you would say 'à bientôt'.

 **Details to better understand the story:**

" _Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_ " are some of the main lyrics in Hozier's song 'Take Me to Church'. When I started writing about Matthew taking Lovino to church, that song immediately popped into my head, and so I included it in the story as a result haha.

I've been to the Oratory a couple of times. It really is quite impressive, regardless of my being Catholic. I didn't mention it in the story but on the first level of the Oratory, in this place called the 'Votive Chapel' (the same place where the 10 000 votive candles/lamps and Brother André's tomb are situated), there's just a wall of crutches and canes left behind by all the people/pilgrims that are said to have been healed by Brother André (to which the latter always claimed it was Saint Joseph that was doing the healing, not him). I think there are said to be hundreds, if not thousands, of crutches and canes on that wall…. But anyways, even if you're not Catholic, I recommend visiting the Oratory if ever you come to Montreal. It's quite unique, and totally worth it, in my opinion (by the way, since Montreal is turning 375 next year, the Mayor of the city announced that the municipal government would send millions of dollars more so that the dome at the top could have a 360 degree view of the city). If you happen to visit sometime between May and October, you should totally check out the Gardens of the Way of the Cross, which is, as the name suggests, a garden (a beautiful one at that) located right outside the gift shop on level 3. Not only will you be greeted by flowers, but also by a grand view of most of the city (though I don't remember being able to see the Olympic Stadium, at least not very well). One last thing: concerning the pamphlet that I mention Matthew having, I don't know if you could get that at the entrance like I said in the story. I know you could get a guided tour of the Oratory though. My mom got a pamphlet for said shrine back in late February at the church near my house, and I kept it purposefully for this story (I assume in my headcanon that Romano is super Catholic since he has the Vatican. So I figured I just had to make Matthew take him there! I mean it's Canada's biggest church, so why not? Hehe). It's a good thing I did because I couldn't have written this chapter without its help. My mind doesn't remember all the little details such as what's on each level, plus it's been years since I last visited, so… my memories wouldn't have been of much help.

 _Hochelaga_ is said to have been the name of an Iroquois village back in the sixteenth century. It was situated near Mount Royal. When Jacques Cartier found it, it's said that he was greeted by the Iroquois people. Soon after, he gave Mount Royal its name. This village is said to have been the basis of Montreal, though archeologists have yet to find a trace of its existence.

Usually, the cross at the top of Mount Royal is lit in white, though for special occasions the lights will change color. For example, the lights will turn blue for Saint-Jean-Baptiste day (Quebec's 'national' holiday, which many people in Quebec celebrate more than Canada day… and the reason 'why' it's celebrated more is something I'll perhaps explain in another story), and purple between the time it takes for a new Pope to be elected after the death of the previous Pope. It's also been turned red for AIDS awareness. Speaking of things that light up, the Olympic Stadium also lights up at night. In fact, when the terror attacks happened in Paris last November, the Stadium was lit up in the French flag. When the attack in Brussels occurred, it was colored in the Belgian flag. Now during these Summer Olympics, the Stadium is lit in red. Last week was Gay Pride week in Montreal, and so it was lit up in the colors of the rainbow (but now it's back to red again). Usually, on any other regular day, the Stadium is just lit in blue and white (for the colors of the Quebec flag? Probably, but I'm not 100% sure).

I just noticed that you can't cross words out on fanfiction, so I just went ahead and underlined the stuff in Lovino's letter that was supposed to be crossed out.

 **A/N:** I'm so glad this is finally done! I feel so accomplished, but also maybe a bit bittersweet. I mean, this story was so fun to write and I'm gonna miss updating new chapters. At least now I can focus on writing new stories. Speaking of that, during the two month wait between this chapter and the last, I wrote an Austria x Canada oneshot. So if you like that pairing (and a seme!Canada), it's on my profile.

By the way, I wrote this chapter while listening to MrSuicideSheep's house playlist (I recommend you check out this Youtube channel if you want to discover new and awesome music. So worth it!). Though I especially stuck to this song called "flocon de neige", which means snowflake in French, and is track #59 on the playlist. It's by this French DJ, Worakls. I love the song because it has some great trumpet, and eargasming piano at the end. Could you tell I just love orchestral instruments? Any clarinet players reading this? That was my instrument back in high school, heh. Anywho, just speaking my mind here, but I find France produces some of the best electronic music.

Bisous (meaning 'kisses', in French),

~SailorHikarinoMu


	11. La Chasse-Galerie

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own this legend at all. Though, I do own a book with it in it ;) There are sososo many legends from Quebec, but this one is my absolute favorite, not that the other's aren't any less awesome.

 **A/N:** This is the famous (famous in Quebec at least) urban legend I brushed upon in chapter 5 of Canadian Refuge. This is a translation that I found off the Internet but that I modified quite a bit in order to make it as close to the original French version as possible. Guys and girls… if you're reading this, I just want to express how happy I am to share this beloved legend with you! I grew up with this tale, and in school I even wrote a couple of dictations ( _dictées_ in French) on it! You know that Hetalia episode where Poland and Lithuania are telling each other legends from their respective countries? Well, I gotta say it's one of my favorite episodes! I love it specifically because I got to learn a bit more about those countries and because I love legends. The older the better!

Just a small preview (because I realized that it may be a bit confusing when reading for the first time): This legend is mainly about the time when Joe, the main character and narrator, ran the cursed canoe called the 'chasse-galerie' back in his youth. (I kept this summary very simple, because I wouldn't wanna spoil anything for you guys, now would I?)

Info #1: There are actually quite a few songs and art pieces about this story. An example is the song by Claude Dubois called ' _Chasse-Galerie_ '. As the name suggests, it's a song about the legend. I recommend you have a listen (even though it is entirely in French)! An other honorable mention is the song ' _Martin de la Chasse-Galerie_ ' (translation: 'Martin of the Chasse-Galerie', though who the hell is Martin, you may ask? I'm not quite sure myself, but according to the song he's one of the dudes on the chasse-galerie. Bope…) sung by _La Bottine Souriante_ (which basically translates to 'the smiling boot' heh, funny band name in my opinion). That song is also completely in French.

Info #2: In the Vancouver 2010 Olympics Opening Ceremony, there's a part where a man is standing in a canoe high in the air while playing the violin. He's standing in front of a 'honey' full moon while arguing with his misbehaving shadow. Well, just so you know, that was a reference to this legend (the canoe part, and the fact that the dude's hair looks like demon horns)!

Info #3: There are many versions of the Chasse-Galerie legend (sometimes, the characters die and the devil takes them away. Sometimes, they crash on top of a church's cross instead of a tree like in this version) but this is the one by Honoré Beaugrand, which is the most popular version here in Quebec, thus the one you'll hear about most.

Info #4: Speaking of church crosses, did you guys know that Montreal is referred to as ' _la ville aux cent clochers_ ', which means 'the city of a hundred bell towers'? That's because Montreal used to have a lot of churches (it still does, but less than before I'd say). Historically speaking, Quebec, as a province, has always been mostly Catholic, whilst the rest of Canada is more Protestant. Anyways, to get back to what I was saying, there still are many churches in Montreal, but the Catholic Church is way less present now compared to how powerful it was a few decades ago. The Church used to control many things, from education to healthcare (specifically hospitals and clinics and whatnot). But now, it's a lot more subdued. I thought maybe that'd be interesting to tell you guys. Because the Catholic Church and its clergy was something you did not want to mess with back in the day…

Info #5: To all of you who don't know, Montreal is an island, just like Venice (sorta... Venice's made up of more than a hundred tiny islands, whereas Montreal is just one single piece of land) and some of New York City. It was founded in 1642 by this French noble _Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve_ (as explained last chapter). In my honest opinion, it looks like a foot (I dare you guys to Google search Montreal. Doesn't it look like a foot? Or a boomerang?).

…Anyways, enough with the extra info. Have fun reading! -xox

 **La Chasse-Galerie (known in English as 'The Bewitched Canoe')**

 _The following account is based on a folktale that goes back to the time of the coureurs des bois and the voyageurs of the North-West. The men of the logging camps perpetuated the tradition, and it is those from the Saint Lawrence river area especially that know about the legends of the 'chasse-galerie'. I have met more than one voyageur who has confirmed that he has seen canoes flying through the air filled with the possessed under the spell of Satan going to visit their girlfriends. If I were asked to use more intellectual terms, I would remind those asking that I am telling a story about men whose language is as crude as their difficult craft_.

H.B.

* * *

"I am going to tell you all a great story. But if there are any here among you who are tempted to run the _chasse-galerie_ or transform into a werewolf, you'd better go attend the barn owls' Sabbath tonight, for I shall begin my story by making the sign of the cross in order to ward off the devil and his minions. I had enough of the damned in my youth."

Not one man left: on the contrary, all came nearer the hearth where the cook finished giving his warning and prepared to tell his story.

It was the night before the New Year of 1858, and they were deep in the forest, at the Ross lumber camp above _Gatineau_. It had been a tough season, and the snow was already as high as their log cabin rooftops.

Their boss ordered the distribution of the contents of a small barrel of rum among the men according to tradition, and the cook had finished preparing the _fricot de pattes_ (stew made of pigs' feet) and _glissantes_ (a kind of dumpling) for the next day's meal. The molasses was simmering in the big caldron to end the evening's festivities.

Each man had packed his pipe with good Canadian tobacco, and a thick cloud obscured the inside of the cabin where a crackling fire of resinous pine intermittently cast a red tint, illuminating the figures of these rustic woodsmen.

Joe, the cook, was a small disfigured man that the men called 'the hunchback', and had been a woodsman for at least forty years. In that time, he had seen everything, and all it took was a drink of rum to get him to tell stories of his adventures.

"As I was saying", he continued, "even though I was a little rough in my youth, today I don't tolerate the mockery of religion. I go to confession every year and what I'm going to tell you now happened in the days of my youth when I feared neither God nor the devil.

It was a night like this one on New Year's Eve, around thirty-four or thirty-five years ago.

My comrades and I were having a drink around the campfire. But if little streams become great rivers, then little drinks empty large barrels, and in those days we drank much more than we do today. It was not unusual to see our festivities end in fist fights.

I myself had drained a half a dozen drinks, at which point my head was spinning, so I took a nap on my furs while waiting for the jump over the lard barrel from the old year into the new year just like we'll do tonight at midnight, then going visiting and wishing the men in the next camp a happy new year.

I had been sleeping for a while when I was roughly shaken awake by the boss, Baptiste Durand, who told me: 'Joe, midnight just passed and you're late for jumping over the barrel. Our comrades have left for the neighboring camp and I am going to _Lavaltrie_ to see my girlfriend. Do you want to come?'

' _Lavaltrie_! Are you crazy? We are more than a hundred leagues away. It would take you two months to make the trip through the snow. What about the work to be done the day after New Year's?'

'Idiot, I didn't mean to walk there. We'll take the trip in a canoe and tomorrow morning, at six o'clock, we will be back in the camp.'

I understood.

My boss was suggesting that we run the _chasse-galerie_ and that I risk my eternal salvation for the pleasure of seeing my girlfriend in the village.

It was a little shocking. It was true that I was a little bit of a drunk and a debaucher and that religion didn't mean much to me in those days, but selling my soul to the devil was even beyond me.

'Coward,' exclaimed Baptiste, 'you know well that there is no danger. We'll be in _Lavaltrie_ and back again in six hours. You know well that with the _chasse-galerie_ we travel at least fifty leagues an hour when one knows how to man the oar like we do. We only need to avoid speaking the name of the good Lord during the journey and not crash into the church tower crosses on the way. It's easy to do, and to avoid all danger, all we have to do is think before we speak, keep an eye on where we're going, and not get drunk on the way. I've made the trip five times and you can see that nothing's ever happened to me. Let's go, my friend. Take courage and we'll be in _Lavaltrie_ in two hours. Think of the pleasure of kissing Liza Guimbette. There are already seven of us for the journey, but there needs to be an even number. You will be the eighth.'

'Yes all that is fine, but it requires making a deal with the devil and he is not forgiving when one makes a deal with him.'

'A simple formality, Joe. All we need to do is stay sober, to think before we speak, and to man the oar properly. Come, come! Our companions are waiting outside and the Great canoe for the _drave_ (meaning 'timber rafting', raftsmen in early U.S and Canadian history used to take advantage of the fact that wood floats on water to steer logs down small streams towards the St Lawrence River, where they were then harvested by paper manufacturers) is ready for the voyage.'

I allowed myself to be dragged out of the cabin where I saw six of our men who were waiting for us, oar in hand. The big canoe was in the snow, in the clearing, and before I had the chance to think about it I was already seated in front, oar at the ready. I admit I was a bit troubled, and Baptiste, who hadn't been to confession for seven years, did not leave me any time to think. He was standing in the back and in a loud voice said, 'repeat after me' and we repeated:

 _'Satan, king of hell, we promise you our souls if in the next six hours we say the name of our master the good Lord, and if we touch a cross during our trip. Under these conditions, you will transport us across the sky to where we wish to go and you will take us back to this same camp._ _ **Acabris**_ _!_ _ **Acabras**_ _!_ _ **Acabram**_ _! Take us over the mountains!'_

We had just pronounced the last words when we felt the canoe lift five or six hundred feet in the air. I felt as light as a feather, and at the command of Baptiste, we started to row as though possessed.

At the first strokes of the oar the canoe shot through the air like an arrow, and it was then that it could be said that the devil was truly carrying us. It took away our breath, and the hairs of our wolverine fur hats were trembling in the breeze.

We flew faster than the wind. For a quarter of an hour, we navigated above the forest without seeing anything else other than the tops of the great pines.

The night was superb, and the moon illuminated the heavens like a beautiful noonday sun.

It was very cold and our mustaches were covered in frost as we were all rowing. All this was understandable since it was the devil who was guiding us, and I assure you all that it was not at a slow pace.

We soon saw a light in the distance; it was _Gatineau_ wherein the light reflecting off the ice shone above us. Then little by little we saw the lights in the houses and then the church towers that glimmered like the bayonets of soldiers training on the _Champ-de-Mars_ of Montreal.

We were passing the bell towers as fast as telegraph poles when traveling by train. And we still flew like demons shooting over the villages, forests, and rivers whilst leaving a shining trail behind us. It was Baptiste, the possessed one, that was steering since he knew the way and we soon arrived at the Ottawa river, which was our guide, in order to descend toward the _lac des Deux Montagnes_ (Lake of Two Mountains).

'Wait a second' cried Baptiste. 'We're going to fly low over _Montréal_ to scare those who are still awake and celebrating. Joe, clear your throat and sing us a rowing song.'

We already saw the many lights of the big city, and Baptiste, with one stroke of the oar, made us descend near the towers of _Notre-Dame_. I took out my chewing tobacco to make sure I didn't swallow it, and I belted out this song for the occasion that all the rowers repeated together:

Mon père n'avait fille que moi (I was my father's only daughter),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Et dessus la mer il m'envoie (And over the sea he sends me):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Et dessus la mer il m'envoie (And over the sea he sends me),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Le marinier qui me menait (The sailor who takes me):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Le marinier qui me menait (The sailor who takes me),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Me dit ma belle embrassez-moi (Says, kiss me my lovely):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Me dit, ma belle, embrassez-moi (Says, kiss me my lovely),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Non, non, monsieur, je ne saurais (No, no, sir, I will not):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Non, non, monsieur, je ne saurais (No, no, sir, I will not),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Car si mon papa le savait (Because if my dad knew):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Car si mon papa le savait (Because if my dad knew),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly),  
Ah c'est bien sûr qu'il me battrait (Ah, he would surely beat me):  
Canot d'écorce qui vole, qui vole (Birchbark canoe that flies, that flies),  
Canot d'écorce qui va voler (Birchbark canoe that will fly)!

Around two in the morning, we saw groups of people stopping in the streets to look at us go by, but we were flying so fast that in the blink of an eye we had left Montreal and its suburbs behind. I started to count the church towers: those of _Longue-Pointe_ , _Pointe-aux-Trembles_ , _Repentigny_ , _Saint-Sulpice_ , and, finally, the two silver points of _Lavaltrie_ that dominated the green summit of the region's great pines.

'Attention!' shouted Baptiste, 'We are going to land near the entrance of the forest in my godfather Jean-Jean Gabriel's field and then we'll go find some celebrations in the neighborhood.'

We did as he said, and five minutes later our canoe rested in a snow bank near Jean-Jean Gabriel's forest; all eight of us headed to the village. It was no easy task since there was no path through the snow, which came right up to our rears.

Baptiste, more excited than the others, went to knock on his godfather's door where we could still see lights on, but only a servant girl was home and told Baptiste that almost all of the older folk had gone to a banquet at Father Robillard's house, but that the boys and girls of the parish were all at Batissette Augé's place, at the _Petite-Misère_ (Little-Misery), below _Contrecoeur_ , on the other side of the river, where there was a New Year's jig.

'Let's go to the jig at Batissette Augé's!' said Baptiste, 'We're certain to see our girlfriends there.'

'Let's go to Batissette's!' we cried together. We then returned to the canoe while remembering the dangers of drinking and not watching what we said, because we had to be able to retake the same route and get back before six in the morning, otherwise we would be damned like burning wolverines on a stake and the devil would take us to the depths of hell.

' _ **Acabris**_! _**Acabras**_! _**Acabram**_! _Carry us over the mountains_!' shouted Baptiste once more.

And then we were all headed for la _Petite-Misère_ while navigating through the air like the renegades that we were. With two strokes of the oar we had crossed the river and had arrived at Batissette Augé's where the lights were still on. We could hear the vague sounds of a fiddle playing and the laughter of the dancers, whose shimmering shadows we saw through the frosted windows.

We hid our canoe by the shore.

Baptiste repeated, 'Comrades, don't be foolish and be careful with what you say! Let's dance like madmen, but don't drink a single glass of Molson (a Canadian brand of beer) nor rum, do you understand? And at my signal, follow me because we need to leave without attracting attention.'

Then we went to knock on the door.

Father Batissette came to answer and we were welcomed with open arms by all the visitors whom we mostly all knew.

We were greeted with many questions:

'Where did you all come from?'

'I thought you were in the camp!'

'You've arrived late enough!'

'Come have a drink!'

Baptiste said: 'Give us a second to take off our coats and then let us dance a little. We came purposefully to dance. Tomorrow morning, I'll answer all of your questions and we'll tell you everything you want to know.'

I located Liza Guimbette and noticed the lil' Boisjoli of Lanoraie boasting to her.

I approached her to say hello and to ask her for the next dance, a reel. She accepted with a smile that made me forget that I had risked my soul for the pleasure of her company.

During the next two hours we danced incessantly and there was not another who danced as I did. My comrades enjoyed themselves like little devils and the local guys were utterly annoyed by all of us by the time four o'clock came around.

I thought I saw Baptiste Durand approach the buffet where men were taking swigs of white whisky (moonshine) from time to time, but I was so busy dancing with Liza that I didn't really take notice. But when it was time to get back in the canoe, I could clearly see that Baptiste was drunk, and I had to take him by the arm and drag him out with me while signaling to the others to follow without attracting attention.

We left one after another without drawing any attention, and five minutes later we were once more in the canoe after being uncivilized and leaving the dance without saying goodbye to anyone, not even Liza who I'd invited for a dance. I've since thought that that was why she acted foolishly and married Boisjoli instead of me, even going as far as to not invite me to the wedding.

But to get back to the story of the canoe, we were quite disappointed to see that Baptiste had drank because it was he who steered us, and we only had but enough time to get back to the camp by six in the morning. The moon had disappeared, the night was no longer moonlit like before and it was not without fear that I took my spot at the front of the canoe, keeping an eye on our route. Before we were lifted into the air, I turned back to Baptiste and said: 'Hey! Listen to me, my friend. Steer directly toward _Mont-Royal_ (a mountain in Montreal, called Mount Royal in English) as soon as you see it.'

'I know what I'm doing,' responded Baptiste, 'so mind your own business!'

He then repeated before I had a chance to speak: ' _ **Acabris**_! _**Acabras**_! _**Acabram**_! _Take us over the mountains_!'

And then we were off at a great speed. But it became immediately obvious that our navigator was not as steady-handed as before by how the canoe was zigzagging every which way. We passed not more than one hundred feet from the tower of _Contrecoeur_ and instead of steering us west towards _Montréal_ , Baptiste took us toward _Richelieu_. We bounced like a ball over _Beloeil_ mountain and we had been only ten feet away from crashing into the great cross the bishop of Quebec had erected there.

'Go right, Baptiste! To the right! You're going to damn us all to hell if you don't steer better than that!'

Then Baptiste turned the canoe to the right, aiming for _Mont-Royal_ in the distance.

I swear I began to shake a little with fear because if Baptiste continued to steer this way, we would be roasted like piglets on a fire (an expression meaning 'to be damned').

I assure you that we did not expect the rapid descent that came.

The moment we passed over _Mont-Royal,_ Baptiste dropped us straight down, and in the blink of an eye, we were lodged in a snow bank at the side of the mountain. Luckily, the snow was soft and no one came to harm, plus the canoe was in one piece.

But just as we had removed ourselves from the snow, Baptiste began to curse like a madman and argued that he wanted to go into town to have a drink before heading back to Gatineau. I tried to reason with him, but try to argue successfully with a drunk who wants to wet his whistle! And so, reaching the end of my patience, and instead of abandoning our souls to the devil already licking his chops at seeing us in that state, I had a word with all my other comrades who were just as afraid as I was. We thus threw ourselves on Baptiste while trying not to do him harm, to then toss him at the bottom of the canoe after having tied him up like a sausage, and gagged him to prevent him from uttering anything dangerous while we were in the air.  
So we repeated the words and were on our way again, going at a devilish pace since we only had one hour to get to the camp in _Gatineau_. I steered this time, and I can assure you I had my eyes open and my arm steady. We raced up _la rivière Outaouais_ (the Ottawa river in English) all the way to _Pointe-à-Gatineau_ , and from there we headed north toward the camp.

We were only a few leagues away when that devil Baptiste managed to untie himself, take the gag out of his mouth, and stand up in the middle of the canoe to then let loose a string of curses that made me shudder to the very tips of my hair.  
It was impossible to wrestle him down in the canoe without risking a plummet of two to three hundred feet. The fool was jerking about like a hanged man, threatening us all with his oar that he was swinging about his head like an Irish man with his shillelagh. We were in a horrible fix as you can well understand. But luckily, we arrived. However, I was so excited that through a misstep while trying to dodge Baptiste's oar, I sent the canoe hurtling into the top of a tall pine, and suddenly we were falling, hitting every branch like a grouse shot out of a tree.  
I don't know how long it took to hit the ground because I lost consciousness before then, and my last memory was as that of a man dreaming of plunging down a bottomless well.

Around eight in the morning I woke up in my bed in our cabin where our comrades, who had found us plunged neck-deep in the snow, had taken us. Nobody broke their neck thankfully, but I don't think I need to tell you about the stiffness in my ribs – not to mention my black eye and the few cuts on my hands and face. Most importantly, the devil hadn't taken us away, and I don't need to tell you that I didn't want to contradict the story that our comrades had found us passed out and rum-drunk in a snow bank. It was already bad enough that I had almost sold my soul to the devil, and it wasn't until years later that I told the real story of what happened.

All I can tell you, my friends, is that it's not as fun as they say rowing through the air in the dead of winter, running the _chasse-galerie_ just to see your girlfriend in town. If you believe my story, then you'll wait until the summer to go see your girlfriends without making a deal with the devil."

Then, Joe plunged his spoon into the golden boiling molasses, and declared that it was ready.

* * *

End ~ Fin

 _Coureurs des bois_ : Were basically outlaws. They were often these 'homeless' French or French-Amerindians that were trappers in North America (especially French Canada) and would basically live in the forests where conditions were often harsh. They used to participate actively in the Fur Trade (actually, they kinda started the whole trade) by selling and exchanging furs (especially beaver furs) between the Native Peoples and European settlers. They're known as 'wood-runners' in English. I learnt a lot about these guys in history class back in high school haha. In pictures, they're often seen wearing fur hats with a beaver (or raccoon) tail sticking out in the back. ' _Coureur_ ' means 'runner', and ' _des bois_ ' means 'of the woods' or just 'the woods', hence the name.

A 'voyageur': Is pretty much the same thing as a wood-runner, but was not an outlaw. What I mean by that is these guys had a trading permit from the king of France himself which let them trade and exchange furs legally. If what I remember from high school history is correct, I think they came a bit after the wood-runners.

A shillelagh: Is, according to google 'a thick stick of blackthorn or oak used in Ireland, typically used as a weapon'. Hmm… interesting.

 _Champ-de-Mars_ : Now a public park, it used to be a military training ground here in Montreal (specifically in Old Montreal). Mars is the Roman god of war, and thus that's why the name was fitting. Also, the Latin term ' _campus Martius_ ' basically signifies military exercise ground. In today's times, it's also become the name of a metro station (actually, it's the station I get off at when I wanna go to Old Montreal hehe), and a hotel (which happens to be close by to the metro station and park bearing the same name). Also, if you want to know a bit more about France, there's a place (a large public greenspace, according to google) with the same name in Paris. Word for word, ' _champ_ ' means 'field', and ' _de Mars_ ' means 'of Mars' or 'from Mars', depending on the context. _Mars_ in French either means the month of March or the planet Mars in English.

 **A/N:** Acabris Acabras Acabram and it's done! Ooooh I just knew I had to write that lol. I hope you guys liked this! The original version of this legend (in French by Honoré Beaugrand) is super easy to find (Just google it and it pops up right away), but to find an official version in  English? I don't know if that even exists honestly. Regardless, I'm so glad that I found a translation on the Internet (and all I had to do was fix things here and there, oh the joys of the Internet!) instead of me having to translate the whole thing on my own. Even if I hadn't found one, I would have translated it anyways just so you guys could read this, because it just so happens that each and every one of you matter to me. To you, my precious readers (especially those from outside of Canada), just know that it makes me positively happy to see that you're interested in my country. It's great if you are, and know that I am just as interested in your own respective country and culture. I find it incredible that you guys are at least a bit curious about Canada's early years. And what better way to get an idea of what it's all about than a super old urban legend dating from before the war over Canada between the French and the English (because yes, that's how old this legend is. Very old, indeed…)?

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I trust that chapter 5 makes more sense now that you know about the legend Matthew and Lovino were talking about hehe.

Lots and lots of smooches from Canada,

~SHnM


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